


Sweetheart, this ain't gender studies

by keysmash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Case Fic, Episode: s05e13 The Song Remains the Same, Established Relationship, Genderfuck, Genderswap, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Other, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wakes up one morning with her brother snoring into her shoulder, which is normal, and a dick of her own between her legs, which is not. Things sort of go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetheart, this ain't gender studies

**Author's Note:**

> Genderswapped genderfuck. Takes place mid-s5 and contains spoilers through 513. AU. Beta by bansidhe and locknkey. Title from No Exit. — I've been working on one version or another of this for more than a year now, and it's done just in time to be self-indulgent birthday fic. \o/ It is my birthday: have some self-indulgent fic.

Dean woke up on her stomach, with one knee hitched up and a pillow from the other bed under her arm. Sam was sprawled all over her back, leg crooked to match hers, and his breath felt warm and steady on her shoulder. The black-out shades were pulled tight, and the room was still dim. She wasn't sure what woke her until another wave of nausea swept through her body. She tried to breath through it, but it felt like the room spun while the bed dipped, and finally Dean just closed her eyes and moaned. Last night's pizza seemed fine at the time, but when her stomach calmed, Dean admitted maybe she couldn't handle pepperoni and jalapeños and pineapple, washed down with beer, as well as she used to. Whatever: she was looking forward to being a cougar, if she ever got the chance, and if that meant cutting back on the grease before bed, fine.

She didn't count the days back, to the last pair of blood-smudged panties. She'd put on the new patch yesterday morning, and she just — that couldn't be it.

Sam pressed his drooly face into her neck as he started to stir. His dick twitched along the outside of her thigh, which usually set her dripping for him, but she hadn't completely shaken the urge to hurl, and she inched away.

"Mmm." Sam sandpapered his cheek against her shoulder. "Morning."

Dean groaned at him, huskily, then frowned and cleared her throat. Maybe she was coming down with something. Sam rubbed the backs of his fingers over her ass, stopping when he skimmed across the birth control patch in order to trace one finger around its edges.

"Found it." His grin scratched at her skin just like every time he found a new patch, like she kept Waldo underneath them, and Dean flailed her arm to keep him from getting his mouth down there to christen the thing.

"Dude, stop," she started, and would have finished it off with _I don't feel so hot_ if they hadn't both frozen at her voice. It sounded as deep as it had earlier, as low and throaty as Sam did in the mornings.

"Dean." Sam hadn't pulled away, but he did tense up. He did shift his hips so that his dick wasn't touching her any longer.

Dean cleared her throat, bringing up a mouthful of phlegm that she swallowed without bothering to wince. She closed her eyes before she spoke again.

"Sammy," she said. It was almost their father's voice coming out of her mouth.

Sam let her go and sat up, cutting off their contact. She wanted to shiver with his warmth gone, but she rolled onto her back instead. Sam inhaled but didn't say anything, and when Dean opened her eyes, he was staring at her from the far side of the mattress with his mouth hanging open. At least he hadn't scrambled entirely off the bed, or gone for a weapon. Dean held her breath and looked down her body.

Her tattoo was still there, at least, and she pressed one hand over the ink to distract herself from — her boobs were _gone_, leaving her nipples tiny and flat over pecs that weren't nearly big enough to seem familiar. Her hips had disappeared into the same slim line as her waist, but she had a gut now, her stomach slightly rounded even when she was lying down, and how the fuck would that look when she stood up?

She reached between her legs with her free hand and closed her eyes again.

"Dean," Sam repeated from the foot of the bed. She shook her head and didn't try to read his tone.

She touched hair, normal, but she kept going down, and once her fingers brushed up against the base of a dick, she jerked her hand away and looked. She — she had a dick, hanging soft over the top of one thigh. Dean gritted her teeth and checked underneath, but instead of finding her cunt miraculously tucked away, she only found balls, soft and warm on her hand.

"Fuck," she said, and her voice was still too low. She wiped her hand on the sheet and looked to Sam. He'd closed his mouth but his eyes were still narrow.

"Dean," he said, "you're a —"

She shook her head quickly. Her hair rustled on the pillow and she pushed herself up enough to be able to run one hand through it. Her hair, at least, hadn't changed. When she sat up all the way, it still brushed her collarbone. She met Sam's gaze and fought the hesitance to let him look at her like this, topless outside of sex.

"Don't say it," Dean said, frowning again at her voice. "Just, don't."

.

She stayed in bed until she sent Sam after some breakfast, leaving her alone in the process. He'd gone through the entire room without turning up hex bags, their salt and sigils were still in place, and the room was as free of EMF as when they checked it last night. Short of someone lurking in the parking lot — also a no — they weren't going to find a quick and easy fix for this. He went without too much argument after she laid those facts out for him.

His clothes from the night before were still on the floor, and Dean reached for one of his shirts as soon as he left. It was still big on her, but it came close to fitting now. Sam's boxers fit, too, when she stepped into them. She rolled the waistband over a few times out of habit, them frowned and tugged them to hang correctly after taking a step. They stayed in place on their own now, and rolling them did unpleasant things to her penis. Her penis. Fuck.

Dean took her time heading to the bathroom. She didn't feel out of balance, precisely, but top-heavy, like she was carrying some strange and poorly-packed backpack. She bypassed the mirror entirely and started lowering the shorts as she turned to sit on the toilet when she remembered all over again. She grit her teeth and pushed the boxers all the way down. She wasn't sure why she'd put them on, really, except that it'd been nice to not have the reminder so obvious.

It was a dick, soft and uncut, and on one hand, it was nothing she'd never seen before. She knew the theory here, had known it since she was six and a half and teaching Sam not to piss all over the floor, but she'd never done anything about it since then. Dean looked from the dick to the toilet, seat still lowered, then rolled her eyes and backed away. She could pee in the shower the first time, and hopefully she'd be fixed before there was a second time.

She turned on the water, spent a few moments fighting to get it warm, and then grabbed her toiletry bag from the counter. The shampoo always wound up at the bottom, and Dean shifted aside the baggie of work make-up — eyeliner; red lipstick; perfume; nail polish in pale pink, black, and magenta; lip gloss; blush — to grab the bottle. She hesitated over her razor and shaving cream, rubbing one leg against the other to gauge just how prickly she was this morning, but told herself she was going to be sorted out quickly enough there was no point in making new habits.

She pulled off Sam's shirt and went through her usual routine as much as possible. It was weird, though, to prop one foot against the wall in order to shave her ankle, and have a dick flopping around between her legs. She didn't know how Sam was used to that, to having his cock just banging around all the time. Dean guessed he was still taller than her, and she knew his dick was bigger. With her own swinging gently every time she moved, she couldn't imagine how men got anything done.

The bathroom's fan worked off the same switch as the lights, so the mirror hadn't fogged much. Dean brushed her teeth without watching her reflection, but she looked up after she spat, and there she was. She frowned and studied herself — creased forehead, yeah, but her eyes were the same, and her lips, and her cheekbones. Her eyebrows were still plucked into shape, making this face look startled. Her jaw was thicker and much more obvious, but when she reached up and rubbed her cheek, she found her face smooth and unstubbled.

She leaned back and checked out the rest of her body. The scar on her shoulder survived the change, and her upper body definition was still there. She wasn't anywhere near as ripped as Sam, but the muscle hadn't changed.

Dean poked at her gut with a frown. This must have been where her boobs and hips — and ass, she thought, turned to check the rear view in the mirror — had gotten off to. The extra bit of fat, which looked awesome yesterday, seemed out of place now. Dean turned to the side and sucked in, then rolled her eyes and wrapped the towel around herself. She had one end tucked under the other side across her chest before she remembered she didn't have anything on top worth covering up. Dean paused for a moment, then lifted her chin and combed her hair away from her face. She kept the towel right where it belonged.

Sam was back when she left the bathroom. His eyebrows raised slightly as he looked her up and down — she wondered if her dick was hanging out from under the bottom edge of the towel — but then he set his jaw and met her gaze. She grinned, or tried to, and continued to her duffel, on the extra bed.

"Have you called Bobby yet?" he asked.

Dean glanced up from searching through her clothes. She had the straps to a few different bras in one hand, and she put them aside for the moment. "No," she said. She could see Sam trying not to react to her voice, but he swallowed hard anyway. "You do it, okay."

He paused. "Thought you might want to."

She snorted. "Nah, you do it. He'll recognize you right away." When Sam raised his eyebrows, she shrugged and went back to her clothes.

Dean pulled out stuff that wouldn't work: sports bras, business-casual blouses, fuck-me boots and fuck-you heels, a hippie skirt, anything sleeveless or strappy. They were due a trip to the laundromat anyway and Dean's stash of clean everyday stuff was down to her least favorites at the bottom of the bag. Her black tee with a hole under one arm smelled fine, though, and while it tugged tighter across her shoulders than usual, it reached the top of Sam's boxers when she stepped into them. Getting into yesterday's jeans was weirder, between the bulky underwear and her rearranged body, but she sucked in and zipped up after only a few moments of struggle.

"Uh," Sam said when she went looking for socks. "You can borrow some clothes, if you need."

She shook her head. "M'good." She raised her own eyebrows when Sam opened his mouth again and he snapped it closed after a moment.

Dean ran fingers through her drying hair on her way back to the bathroom. "How about you get Bobby on the phone," she called, and then paused when she caught a glimpse in the mirror.

Her shirt _felt_ fine, but apparently that didn't mean much for clothes with some stretch to them. It pulled as tautly as it felt over her shoulders, but the fabric hung loosely over her pecs. It clung to her belly and then fell loose again at the hips, and her jeans did the same thing, cutting into her belly but hanging around the seat. With her hair starting to curl slightly, she was a mess. She stared for a few moments, then pulled her hair into a ponytail and went out to face her brother.

Sam had his laptop open and his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder. Dean sat across from him and pulled a cup of coffee to her side of the table. It'd cooled some, even through the Styrofoam cup, but she drained it anyway.

Sam gave Bobby some one-word answers and occasionally tapped at the computer. Dean crossed her legs, fished a kolache out of the bag on the table, and leaned back to listen.

"When she woke up," he finally said, and met Dean's eyes. She swallowed her bite and held his gaze while he listened a little longer, and then when he said, "I'll ask." Sam held the phone speaker-side down, against his chest, and leaned forward. "Did you notice anything unusual?" Dean rolled her eyes, not even sure where to start with that one, but Sam shook his head. "Last night, I mean. Maybe when we..."

When he put his hand down her pants a block away from the motel, or when they necked in the parking lot like they didn't have anywhere else to go, or when Sam got her off three times before coming inside her and then dozing off without even pulling out?

No, nothing then.

She shook her head. "Felt weird this morning," she said. "Right before we got up, but not other than that."

"Weird like how?"

"Besides the obvious?"

"Yes, Dean, besides the obvious."

She glared at Sam's I'm-being-patient-whether-or-not-you-deserve-it voice. "Felt like I was gonna hurl."

"You should have told me then."

Dean tilted her cup back for the last sip of coffee. "Kinda distracted."

Sam nodded, then picked up the phone and relayed the news. Dean kept one ear on their conversation while she started a list of everything she could remember eating or drinking recently. She'd gone through the past two and a half days when Sam leaned forward again, offering her the phone.

"You wanna talk to Bobby?" he asked.

She shook her head, right away. Bad enough Sam had to see her like this, she didn't want Bobby up close and personal now, too.

"He's gonna run some stuff with his star charts for us, but, uh." Sam fiddled with his phone after he hung up, then sighed and looked at her. "Even if it's fixable, Dean, the fastest ritual we could do takes three weeks, and that's assuming..." He trailed off.

"Assuming we've got the time, and the world doesn't end in the meantime?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Dean nodded. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in the hollow of her throat, and she made herself keep breathing through it. If the world ended while she was stuck in this body —

She shook her head, then slid her scrap of paper to Sam. "Did any of these places seem off to you?"

He frowned and checked the list. "Not at the time. You think we should backtrack?"

"Dunno." She shrugged. "Let's keep it as an option, though."

Sam nodded, and they started on a list of pitstops, next.

By the time they finished the pastries, they'd tracked their movements over most of the past week, but nothing stood out. No food or drink that seemed weird, no gaps in either of their memories, no blatant omens. Dean skimmed through Revelations but nothing jumped out at her. Across the table, Sam was cross-referencing one of his own texts with some website. When she snapped the Bible closed and shoved it across the table, he sighed and looked up.

"You might be stuck this way for a while."

Dean rubbed her fingers over her throat and nodded. Her chest felt too tight. "That ritual you mentioned," she said. "What all does it take?"

He shook his head and passed her some scribbled notes. "A bunch of herbs that're out of season, sea salt gathered by the person to be changed, uh, that's gathered from the sea, not from the store, some consecrated —"

"The blood of a virgin?" Dean interrupted, having skimmed down the list faster than Sam repeated it. "Seriously?"

He blushed and looked away. "Uh, yeah. I didn't write this part down, but it has to be, uh." He cleared his throat. "Menstrual blood."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Of course it does." She turned the paper over and left it, blank side up, in the center of the table. "I'm thinking that's our last resort, then."

Sam glanced up and met her gaze with his face still red. Last resort was staying like this, but neither of them said it.

Dean leaned towards the bedside table and barely managed to grab her phone without tipping over. She scrolled down to the last number Cas had used, then paused before dialing. "Maybe you should do this, too." She held the phone out to Sam. "Cas. Just to explain."

He raised his eyebrows. "I think he's gonna know who you are regardless."

Dean tossed the phone towards Sam's face, so that he quit his bitching and caught it. "Humor me."

Sam dialed and watched her while he pressed the phone to his ear. After way too long, his shoulders relaxed and he said, "No, it's Sam. We've got a probl—"

He cut off, and Dean grinned at the huge eye-roll he pulled. He tapped his fingers on the table, then shook his head and interrupted right back.

"Dean's a man," he said, biting off each word, then he frowned and corrected himself. "Or stuck in a man's body somehow, or something. We woke up this morning and she was — not like usual."

They were all silent for a moment, without even the tiny buzzing of someone on the other end of the line, then Cas said something else and Sam passed the phone over to Dean.

It was warm, maybe from Sam's face or maybe just from being used, when Dean held it to her ear. Castiel stayed silent, so she eventually stepped it up and said, "Hey, Cas."

"Deanna," he said. She closed her eyes and exhaled at his lack of hesitation. She'd never appreciated his habit of using people's entire names at weird times nearly as much as she did right now.

"What the hell's going on here?" she asked. "Is this something you did? Because that's still not gonna make me happy, but the devil you know, right?"

Across the table, Sam was losing the fight against his smile.

"No," Castiel said. "This is the first I'd heard of it. Tell me where you are."

Dean gave him the name of the motel and the town, and a moment later, he was knocking on their door. Sam scratched through a sigil to break it and let him inside while Dean ended the call, and he frowned at her when he saw her. She rolled her eyes. "Told you so."

"Yes, I see that." He put his own phone into his pocket. "Can you stand?"

"Not broken, just fucked up." She stood and turned in a circle, taking care not to wobble. She didn't look at Sam when she spun past him, and then spread her hands for Cas when she faced him again. "But trust me, all the equipment changed over, too. It's not just appearances or anything."

"That would be easier to fix," he said, and came closer. He looked into her eyes and then put one hand on her temple and the other on her chin, tilting her head to the side. Dean watched him as she moved, and when he backed away and frowned, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What," she said.

"It's a big use of energy, to change someone's body like this. Pulling you from Hell exhausted me, and I still had Heaven's backing for that. I don't know if I can fix this by myself."

Dean swallowed. "Ok, so, what, that's it? I'm just stuck like this?" Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Sam sit up straighter in his chair and plant his hands on his knees.

"I'll try," Cas said, "but it may not work. I can't promise you anything." He grasped the side of her head, leaving his thumb in front of her ear and tucking his fingers into her hair.

"Just like that?" she asked.

Cas didn't answer. He closed his eyes and, after a moment, tightened his grip. She glanced at Sam when Castiel gasped and swayed a little, especially since she didn't feel anything happening. Sam stood up and went to stand behind Castiel, holding his hands a few inches on either side of his arms without touching him, and when Cas let out a grunt, he looked down at Dean.

"Should I pull him off?"

"Dunno," she said. "It might mess things up, maybe he shouldn't be touched right now, how the hell do I know?"

There was a slight tingling sensation in her head for a moment, under Cas's fingers, but then he gasped and yanked himself away. He stumbled into Sam, who caught him and swung him around to rest on the bed. Castiel sat there for a few moments before shaking his head and looking at Dean.

"Whoever did this to you was stronger than I'd guessed. I can't change it by myself," he said. "I'm sorry."

Dean pressed her lips together and nodded, then sat back down in her own chair. She heard the water run in the bathroom, and Sam came out with a plastic cup, which he handed to Castiel. She hadn't even noticed him leave the room.

"Drink it," he said. Cas tried to shake his head but Sam didn't let him back down. "You're sweating. Drink the water."

Cas touched his temple, where Dean saw sweat around his hairline, and then held out his hand. He drank the water in a few gulps and then put the empty cup on the floor.

"Dean," he said, and she sighed before meeting his eyes. "I can't do it alone, and there isn't anyone I can ask for help."

"No one?" she asked. "You don't have any allies, or anything?"

"No one I'd bring to see you. Many of the angels I'm in contact with think you should be —" He pursed his lips for a moment before continuing. "Think you should be persuaded into saying yes to Michael. I wouldn't trust them with you."

"Man, you guys are like straight out of the chapter on rape in sex ed," she said. Castiel frowned, and Dean shook her head. "You're saying I'm stuck this way, aren't you?"

"For the time being," Cas said, after a pause. "Is this going to be a problem?"

Sam snorted behind him and disappeared into the bathroom again. Dean watched him go, then looked back to Castiel. "It's not like I can hop up and find a different body if this one doesn't work out for me. I only get one, and if it's wrong, then it's _wrong_."

"I think you're actually going on two or three by now," Sam called from the bathroom. Dean ignored him.

"We don't take bodies like the demons do," Cas started, but Dean shook her head, and he stopped.

"Yeah, it's gonna be a problem," Dean said. She grit her teeth. "But I can work around it, if I have to."

"Good," Castiel said, and stood. "I'll be in touch."

Dean didn't watch as he walked towards the door and disappeared without ever opening it. Sam came back into the room later, holding another cup of water, and raised his eyebrows.

"He's gone?"

Dean nodded. She walked past Sam without looking at him on her way to the bathroom, but stopped without going inside, towards the mirror. Instead, she leaned against the doorjamb, pulled her hair out of its ponytail, and combed her fingers through it aggressively.

"So," she said, once she calmed down enough to trust her voice would stay steady. "Maybe I'll take those clothes after all."

.

Sam's stuff was all meant for a body in her current proportions, and it was at least uniformly too big. Her feet were about the same size, thank fuck, so once she put on her favorite boots, the hem of Sam's pants didn't drag too badly over the ground. It wasn't cold enough for her to need one of his flannel shirts, so long as she kept Dad's jacket on. Annoying, the coat fit better now than ever before. In the mirror, it looked like hers, instead of something borrowed from some dude. Her hair had dried wavy, with a huge kink wrapping around the back of her head from its time in the ponytail, and while she could probably get away with bad hair in this body, it didn't mean she wanted to. She swept it up again.

Their first stop was the pizza joint from the night before. Sam argued with her, all the way there, that neither the bored teenagers nor the bored middle-aged manager they'd seen working the night before seemed strong enough for the kind of magic that an angel couldn't fix, but it'd happened before, so Dean took them there anyway. Even pulling out her health inspector's badge in order to poke around the kitchen and the employee break room didn't turn up anything. She was lucky that she'd made the badge in Kerry Livgren's name, and she frowned when she thought about how many female names she had in the glovebox. Not many of them were as neutral as Kerry, and she'd have to fake up a new stash if she was stuck this way for long.

They'd been in town long enough to build up an entire group of places they'd eaten, and Dean's hopes dimmed further each time they stopped by without finding anything suspicious. The cafe where they stopped for breakfast and coffee several times, the gas station where they filled up a few days ago, the grocery store where Sam insisted they buy some cereal and milk — none of it brought up anything out of the ordinary.

Dean crossed her arms as she and Sam headed back to the car, after stopping by the deli where they went for sandwiches their first day in town. It was weird, not having her breasts in the way of her arms, but she frowned and kept her hands where they were. "That was a whole lot of nothing."

"It was just a few hours of looking," Sam said. "We'll get a better handle on stuff tomorrow."

She glanced at him. "We shouldn't stop yet."

"Yeah, but we didn't plan very well, and most of the ones we still have to do are only open mornings and afternoons." Sam rested his arms on top of the car while Dean unlocked her door and then his. "And we'll be able to get a better look at stuff when they're not crowded tomorrow, anyway."

"Doesn't do us any good if it was just some other customer, and now they're gone without us ever placing them."

He sighed. "No."

"Or if it's not a person at all." She tapped her fingers on the wheel as she took them down a straight patch of road, back towards the motel. "What sort of stuff could do that, off the top of your head?"

"Hell, all sorts of stuff. Tricksters — real Tricksters, anyway — and angels, and demons. A djinn —"

Dean laughed. "I'd be all about that if it meant this wasn't real, but no way is this my wildest fantasy, bud."

"We'll make a list when we get back to the room," Sam said. She didn't glance over, but she could imagine him rolling his eyes.

She was going to respond, but wound up yawning instead. Sam turned to face her, frowning, and she shrugged. The sun hadn't set yet, but now that she was sitting down, she was more tired than she'd thought.

"You look exhausted," he said, studying her face more closely than Dean wanted anyone to.

Dean glared at him. "It's been a hard fucking day."

"Let's go back," Sam repeated. "We can start working on this, and get something to eat in a little bit." She knew him well enough to know that _get some rest_ went unsaid in his list of things to do, but she was actually okay with that plan right now.

"Whatever," she said, and kept on driving.

.

Sam went directly to the bathroom when they got back to the room, and Dean pulled a notepad and her flask, settling down at the table to work. She went through the list they'd been working by that day, crossing off the names of places they checked out, and then stared at what they'd left, for the next few days. She still couldn't see any sort of pattern to it, and she put it aside about the time Sam turned the shower on. Dean rolled her eyes and started making a new list, this time of things that could have done something like this to her.

She'd only written down a few things when Sam came back into the room, dressed but still toweling his hair dry.

"You hungry yet?" she asked, without looking up.

Sam tossed the towel back to the bathroom before saying, "I could eat." His voice was probably just deep because he hadn't talked in a while, but it made Dean shiver. Her dick twitched, too, which could get seriously inconvenient in the long term, but felt almost naughty now. Anyone could see a reaction that she usually kept hidden and secret, safe within her body.

Sam, though, didn't get it. He took the phonebook out of the bedside table, then sat on the other bed while he paged through it. "Take-out?" he asked.

She nodded. "Not that place from last night, though."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "No, not there."

They bickered about Japanese or Chinese food for a while until Dean threw her hands in the air and called a sandwich place. Sam tossed his pen at her but he admitted sandwiches sounded as awesome as tempura had a few minutes ago, so he let it go.

She did ask for her jalapeños on the side this time.

Sam moved his research to the spare bed when the food arrived. Dean glanced through it after she paid, but it was just Sam's chicken-scratchy system of abbreviations at this point. She'd never learned to make sense of it without Sam hovering to translate, so she restacked the papers, going through her own again instead. Sure enough, Sam started typing his written notes into something more legible after he threw out his empty sandwich wrapper.

She worked through the late shows, trying to come up with something new, but when Craig Ferguson ended and she realized her flask was almost empty, and that her peripheral vision was starting to get hazy, she sighed and stood up, cracking her back. Sam was still hunched over his computer, and Dean headed into the bathroom. She took her hair out of her ponytail and sighed as she brushed it out, then stripped down to Sam's boxers and shirt. If she squinted, and didn't look in the mirror for long, this could pass for her real self.

When she sat on the edge on the edge of the mattress and Sam still kept working, she spoke up.

"I've gotta crash for a few hours," she said. Sam nodded at her but didn't answer. She gave him another minute or so before asking, "You coming, too?"

Sam shook his head. "I wanna get this all typed up, so we can start on it tomorrow."

Dean closed her eyes instead of rolling them, then stood and crossed the room to stand behind Sam. She draped her arms over his shoulders and he straightened, taking her weight. "Show me what you've got so far."

Sam clicked a few keys and several windows popped up: a few PDFs open as well as stuff online, a Word document, and a spreadsheet.

"Alright," he said, and pointed to a column in the spreadsheet. "This is stuff it could be, but I'm pretty sure it's not. We're in the wrong part of the world, or it's the wrong time or year, or whatever."

Dean frowned and tapped an item a few rows down. "I wouldn't ever count out the Fae," she said. "I don't care that we've never run across any. They're on my list."

He nodded and moved the cell to the next column. Gabriel sat at the top of that column, followed by Other Angels, Demons, the Fae, and then a box of question marks. It was pretty much everything she'd come up with herself. The next column didn't have anything typed in it yet, but the cells were highlighted yellow.

"What goes there?" she asked.

"Stuff we come up with tomorrow."

Dean snorted and batted him on the chin with one hand. "Then come on," she said. "Sooner you get in bed, sooner it's tomorrow."

He shook his head. Dean leaned on him more heavily, missing the soft weight of her breasts between them but wanting the contact anyway. Sam pushed up into her and she grinned.

"I need to get this done, Dean." He leaned forward again a moment later, taking her with him, and brought his hands back to the keys.

"Sammy." She lowered her voice, which sounded so much more impressive than it used to, and ducked to nuzzle into his neck. "C'mon. Come get in bed with me."

Sam jerked away, pulling free from her hands, and Dean stepped back. She could see now how stiffly he held his back and neck, and guessed he'd been tense all the time she thought he was just taking her weight.

"Dean," he said, this time in the measured tone that mean he was trying not to freak out. It always made her stomach drop when Sam pointed that voice at her. "Look, I know that none of this is your fault, but." He swallowed, loudly enough that she could hear it from behind him. "I'm not really into guys."

"I'm not a guy," she said. Her voice sounded as deep as his, but it was the truth. "This isn't _me_, dude, you know that."

"Intellectually, yeah." He looked over his shoulder. "But, my gut — I look at you and you look like a man, and I'm not really used to that yet."

"Yet?" She took a deep breath, hopeful, and watched his face.

He winced, though, and looked away, shrugging. "I dunno. I dunno if it's yet, or if it'll happen at all."

Dean closed her eyes, feeling winded, then looked down at Sam again. "Three weeks?" she asked.

"And the blood of a virgin," Sam reminded her.

Dean stared at him, studying the cleft of his chin and the wide expanse of his forehead and the stubble shadowing his face. She wondered if her own face looked that way now, and then nodded and turned away. She picked up one of their leftover drinks from dinner, mostly just melted ice by now, and drank it on her way to the bathroom.

After Sam started typing again, she closed the door and pushed her boxers down. The birth control patch was still in place over her ass, not that she'd expected it to peel up after just a day, but Dean picked at one corner anyway until it came loose. She tugged the entire thing away and cut off the stream of hormones into her body. She thought about digging through the trash to see if she could find the plastic backing, so she could replace the patch and save it for later, but she flushed it instead.

She turned off the lights on her side of the room on her way to bed. Sam watched with his face pinched. Once she was settled, he grinned. It didn't look very believable.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged and pulled the sheet up higher, so it covered her shoulders. "Not your fault either."

"But —"

Dean shook her head. "Don't stay up all night," she said. "I wanna get started early in the morning."

He nodded and went back to work. Dean watched him for a long time before she went to sleep.

.

She got up first, the next morning, just an hour or so after Sam went to sleep. Sam hadn't come to bed until around four, and she didn't want to read too much into that, especially since the other bed was covered in stuff, but there were other places he could have slept. She covered him up with the bedspread when she got up, and then headed to the bathroom, where she peed standing up and scowled through the entire process. She didn't want to have to get used to morning wood.

He was still sacked out when she came back into the room, so she pulled a pair of jeans on over the boxers, stepped into her boots, and went for coffee in the motel's office. She only saw the guy behind the counter and a family checking out early, but no one looked at her strangely for walking around straight out of bed, without doing anything with her hair or even changing out of the shirt she slept in. Dean poured herself a cup from the continental breakfast display and thought she could at least get used to that.

She went through Sam's typed notes before he woke up and found that he'd just expanded on his spreadsheet from the night before. None of the info was stuff Dean didn't already know, but it was convenient to have in one place.

Sam had been stirring for a while when she finished reading, so Dean made a pot of coffee, now she wasn't worried about the smell waking him up too early. By the time he got up, though, Dean almost wished she hadn't made it, so she would have an excuse to leave. Sam woke slowly, the way they both did in places they felt safe, and Dean heard him stretch for a moment before rolling over. He reached one arm out to the other side of the bed, looking for her out of habit, and she leaned closer to the laptop so she wouldn't have to watch him realize she wasn't there anymore.

He climbed out of bed eventually and headed to the bathroom, where the shower turned on almost immediately. Dean clenched her jaw and tried not to think about what Sam might be up to in there. She didn't know what it meant, or if it meant anything at all, that she still wanted Sam in this body, but she did. She still wanted his dick, still wanted his hands on her, and just because Sam made her hard instead of wet didn't mean the desire wasn't there.

"So, this all boils down to a bunch of theories but no real leads, right," she said once he came out, paging through her own papers.

"Looks like it."

"Great." Dean tossed her notes onto the table. "Step one's still retracing, then. Awesome."

She showered, touching herself as little as possible, and tried to keep the mirror foggy for as long as possible. It felt like she was stubbly everywhere — she expected her legs and the creases of her thighs to itch, but her cheeks and jaw scratched her palms when she ran her hands over her face, too. She shaved what she normally did and nothing more.

Sam didn't watch as she dressed, putting his clothes from yesterday back on. Her hair dripped onto the shoulders of her shirt until she pulled it into a ponytail, and then she lowered herself into the chair across the table from her brother.

"I think the bar's the best hope, out of where we haven't been yet," Sam said. "We went there three times since we've been in town, and we had the same bartender every time."

"Him?" Dean thought back and frowned. "I didn't get that vibe from him at all."

"So maybe it wasn't him, but I still think it's worth a shot."

Dean glanced over the notes again, where nothing else was worth much more of their time, and then shrugged. "Whatever."

"Except they don't open for another —" Sam checked his watch. "Six hours."

Dean uncrossed her legs and started to grin at Sam, slow, before he flushed and looked away, and she remembered. They wouldn't be killing time like usual. Dean scowled, then stood anyway. "Well, come on, we may as well check out more of the other places."

Sam sighed but closed his laptop. Dean lay back down and kept her eyes closed as he finished getting ready.

.

They hit up some of the remaining places on their list, making sure to start with the ones that were only open in the mornings. Dean rolled her eyes at the two of them when they stopped by the third donut shop in a row, this time posing as reporters, but they still didn't come up with anything. They stopped by the library next, which was closing earlier than usual these days due to budget cuts, and then the copy shop where they'd printed up a few credentials, and then the cemetery where they'd handled the corpse, and the gas station, and the drug store, and none of it gave them any help at all.

The bar opened at two, but waiting in the parking lot for the place to open wouldn't help their case. They took a long lunch in the meantime, in a sandwich place they'd been checking out anyway, before heading over.

Their bartender wasn't there yet, but Dean recognized the guy who was behind the bar. He'd worked one of the times they came in, pouring her Jack and Cokes with a heavy hand. She grinned, patted Sam's arm, and nodded to the bar.

"I'll get this," she said. She let her hips sway a little as she crossed the room. The bartender glanced up but went back to wiping down the counter until Dean reached him.

"Getcha something?" he asked.

"Beer," Dean said. "Whatever's on tap."

The guy snorted and gestured behind him, at the long row of taps lining the wall. "We've got a lot on tap."

"Whatever's your favorite, then," Dean said. He looked up at that, but then put down his rag and poured her drink.

Dean sipped and then licked the foam off the corner of her mouth. "Thanks."

"Sure."

"You worked here long?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Few years, off and on."

"So you must know the other people who work here pretty well."

He raised an eyebrow, then straightened up and leaned against the counter behind him. "You could say that."

"See, the thing is." Dean glanced to each side, then looked back at him. "I came in here a few nights ago, and this other guy was helping me out."

"Uh huh."

Dean frowned. This wasn't going the way it usually did, and she didn't —

Oh, fuck. Right. She knew exactly why it wasn't going right, but she couldn't really change all her mannerisms halfway into talking to the guy. She sighed and kept going; she could at least tone it down.

"Dark hair, about your height, wore a ring on his thumb?"

He shrugged again. "Could be anyone."

Dean nodded and sipped her beer. "He was here three nights ago. I coulda sworn I saw you here then, too."

He kept shrugging. Dean sat back and was trying to come up with another question before he walked off — she knew how to play it straight, but getting to straight was hard when she'd started off flirty — when Sam slid onto the stool next to her.

"Can I get the same?" He waved at Dean's beer and the bartender nodded.

"Thanks, man." Sam slid a twenty, way more than enough for both their drinks, across the counter. "I'll get both of these. Keep the change."

He nodded and slipped the money into his apron. "You guys new in town?"

"Nah, just passing through."

"Saw you the other night, I thought." He finished pulling Sam's beer and passed it over.

"Probably did. We're here for a few nights."

The guy went back to wiping the counter, this time standing in front of Sam.

"Man, I don't wanna badmouth your coworkers or anything, but one of the other guys working that night just would not stop hitting on my girlfriend."

The bartender snorted and shook his head. "Last Wednesday?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah, that's Chris for you. I keep telling him he's gonna get his ass handed to him if he doesn't cut that out, but he never listens."

"He pulls stuff like that a lot?"

"Oh, coupla weeks ago, there's this girl who's obviously here with someone. She wasn't as pretty as your girl —" Sam puffed up a little at hearing this, and Dean snorted into her beer. "But she had this huge rock on her finger," the guy went on, "and she's in this guy's lap most of the night. Chris keeps taking their drinks to the table himself anyway though, and..."

The bartender kept going with his story as Dean drained her beer and got off the stool. She could hear Sam saying, "Yeah, that's my brother, he's had a hard week," on her way out the door.

He stayed inside and she kicked rocks in the parking lot. She missed more stones than she connected with, and eventually she turned to pacing, and then to playing games on her phone. When Sam came out, Dean was sitting on the hood, trying to figure out how best to passive-aggressively text him. He paused when he saw her, and the way he clenched his jaw and settled his shoulders just pissed Dean right off again. She stood up and got into the car.

"That could have gone better," Sam said, and great, that pinched tone meant he was annoyed, too.

"Do not even start with me." She turned the keys. "I've been getting intel outta guys in bars since before your balls dropped and we both know it."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, and that's the entire problem, Dean. The flirty thing isn't going to work now unless we're checking out a gay bar, which we are currently, you know, not."

Dean punched the steering wheel a few times, honking the horn with each hit, then bent her head to rest her right cheek against the wheel. She took a deep breath and stubble scratched against the leather as her cheek moved. She half expected Sam to reach out and try to make this a moment, but he stayed on his own side of the car.

Eventually, she sat up and patted down her hair, making sure it was still pulled back. "I want a fucking drink before we get back to work," she said, and backed out of the lot.

"We're already at a bar," Sam said, laughing.

"Oh, I want a different bar, too."

.

Dean knew how to hold her alcohol, but this new body seemed to be good for something after all: it had an amazing tolerance.

She and Sam sat at the bar at a place down the street. He was still nursing his third beer of the night, including the one at the last place, but Dean held shots eight and nine in her hands. She eyed the tequila, tilting one glass slightly to let it catch the light, before grinning and slamming them back. Sam refused to do shots with her, the little bitch, but she had a few lime slices lined up on a napkin and she sucked on one now.

The new bartender — Angie, who had on the most amazing bra Dean had ever seen; she was trying to figure out how to ask where she bought it without coming off like a creep — shook her head and cleared away the empties. "You're really putting em away tonight."

"It's been that kinda day," Dean said. "Coupla days, actually."

Angie brought her a glass of water unprompted. When Dean raised an eyebrow, Angie crossed her arms and shrugged. "No point in having a bad day tomorrow, too."

Dean laughed and drank it.

Next to her, Sam sat with his back to the bar, facing the center of the room. Dean knocked their shoulders together and then stayed put, leaning against him. He stiffened some before relaxing into her touch, and Dean sighed. They'd always been clingy drunks around each other and today she'd take what she could get.

"Hey, you never told me what you found about the other guy," she said, looking at Sam's face as best she could from her vantage point by his shoulder.

"Yeah, I did." Sam glanced at her, then went back to whatever he was watching. "You just don't remember because it wasn't anything useful. Guy sounds like a creep, but not like someone who'd know how to do this."

Dean nodded. She could feel it messing up her hair but she didn't fix it. "You got that from talking to that one bartender?"

"Give me more credit than that," Sam said. "I talked to him, and a few of the regulars, and a bus boy. They all had the same stuff to say."

"Mmm hmm," Dean said. "Can we got home now? I wanna get in — sleep. Wanna sleep."

Sam pushed her upright and spun his stool around. "Lemme finish this," he said, and got to work on his beer at last.

"Can I get the tab?" Dean asked Angie the next time she came by.

"Sure thing. Just let me put these away first," she said, and waved to the tray of clean glasses in her hand. Apparently they went on the shelf directly in front of Dean, and she got to watch Angie's boobs as she reached to put up the glasses.

It was an awesome bra, seriously — kept her all round and perky, like she was holding her boobs up with her hands, but when she turned around, Dean could barely see the strap across her back. It didn't dig visibly into her shoulders, either, and Dean almost couldn't see the edge of the cups when Angie faced her again. If it weren't for that faint curving line under her shirt, Dean couldn't have been sure she was even wearing a bra. Maybe she was a RealDoll come to life, just to make everyone else feel like shit.

She gave Dean another glass of water with the check. Dean paid with one of the cards, of course, but she tipped in cash. Angie stayed close when Dean put the card away, and while she drank the water.

When Sam pushed his empty across the bar and stood, Dean smiled at Angie and leaned forward. "This is gonna be a weird question, but can you tell me where you —"

"No," Sam interrupted, louder than he needed to. "Bad idea, Dean. Just don't."

"But —"

"He's seeing someone," Sam said to Angie, who rolled her eyes and stepped back.

"It's cool," she said. "Happens all the time."

"No," Dean said. "I wanted to ask you where —"

Sam slid one hand around the back of her neck, underneath her ponytail, and tugged. His palm felt warm against her skin and he tucked his thumb up behind her ear. Dean probably would have followed him anywhere he wanted then, even though it turned out to be nothing more exciting than toward the front door.

"Night!" she called over her shoulder. Angie, if she heard, didn't answer.

Dean spent a few nice moments leaning against Sam's chest as he patted her down in search of the keys. She'd forgotten which pocket they were in.

"Wish I had a purse right now," she said. "Purses are so awesome when you're sloshed."

"Which you are." Sam moved from her back pockets to the front. Her dick jumped when he stuck his fingers near it and he snorted. "But apparently not as much as I thought."

Dean scowled and pushed her face further into his chest. At least she could keep her expression to herself, even if this body liked to make everything else nice and obvious.

The keys eventually turned up in the coat's inner breast pocket. Sam got her stretched out in the back seat and drove them back to the motel. It seemed to take three times longer than Dean thought it should, but she still felt pleasantly drunk when she climbed out. The neon sign outside the office blurred whenever she didn't look directly at it, so the night was too colorful as she waited for Sam to let them into the room.

Dean let him recheck the salt while she sat on the edge of the bed to untie her boots. Her toes ached like they usually only did after a day in her pumps. Dean frowned and kicked the boots off, letting them fly across the room and thump against the chest of drawers. "I think my feet got bigger after all."

Sam hummed as he went about around the room.

"Think I'm gonna need new boots," Dean went on. She struggled up to her elbows and stared at her stocking feet. "And I like my boots."

"Uh huh," Sam said. "You should have more water before you get in bed."

"Don't wanna get up." Dean fell back against the bed and closed her eyes.

Sam did a bunch of noisy shit while she drifted. She idly thought about how much she'd regret sleeping this way, half-way off the bed, in the morning, when Sam grabbed her wrists and pulled her upright. She struggled against him a little, trying to get horizontal again, but she wasn't good in this body yet and she wound up tucked against Sam's chest for the second time that night. He only let her stay there for a few moments before gripping her shoulders and pushing her back so she stood on her own.

Dean opened her eyes and blinked at him. She hadn't gotten taller, not really, and from this angle it was like nothing had changed. Sam's face was dark with stubble, here at the end of the day, and Dean reached up to rub his cheek. Sam shut his eyes when she circled her thumb over his cheekbone, then shook his head and stepped back, leaving her swaying at the foot of the bed.

"Water," he said, and headed into the bathroom. Dean sighed and followed him, brushing her teeth with her eyes closed. She drank a plastic cup's worth of water after that, while Sam ran the faucet to brush his own teeth, and by the time she put the glass down, Dean had to piss as well. Sam disappeared before she got her pants all the way open, and she barely managed to aim properly before following him to the room.

Sam was clearing the other bed off and trying to keep his notes in some workable order at the same time. Dean slumped against the bathroom's doorframe and watched. Her clothes didn't fit, her normal routines didn't work, her reflexes were almost certainly shot, and Dean wanted _something_ that would be the same. And Sam, the most constant thing in her life, wouldn't give her anything close to what she needed.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "What're you doing?"

"Clearing off the bed," he said. She couldn't read his tone.

"Why?" Dean asked, rubbing the heels of her palms over her eyes. The last thing she needed tonight was the nightmares she got, from sleeping alone. "Why can't we still share?"

"Dean." Sam sighed and Dean opened her eyes for him. "I told you, I'm not into guys. I'm sorry, honestly, but I'm just not."

_I'm not gonna jump you or anything_, Dean meant to say, except that when she opened her mouth, something else fell out: "Not even a little?"

He shook his head. "I did the experimentation thing in California. None of it — not even a little."

She bit her lip and nodded. Wasn't much she could say to that. "Can't we just sleep though? Just — just sleep."

Sam straightened his last stack of papers, then drummed his fingers over the tabletop before looking back to her. "Yeah," he said, "of course."

He still had his clothes on. Dean stepped back into the bathroom to brush her hair, and hopefully give him a chance to undress without having to glance her way the entire time. The long-sleeved shirt she'd worn that day would be too warm to wear all night, especially sharing a bed, so she tugged it off. Her reflection's chest was still all wrong, but she shook her head a few times to swish her hair over her skin, then hit the lights and headed back.

Sam was straightening from digging in his duffel when she crossed to the bed. He'd stripped down to his boxers as well, but Dean managed to get under the covers before her dick could do anything about it. He frowned at her for a moment as she tugged the covers up to her shoulders and turned off the lamp on her bedside table, but then he sighed, so loudly, and joined her in bed.

Dean leaned towards him before she could stop herself, but she pulled back before getting too far into his space.

"Habit." She crossed her arms over her chest and sank into the pillow, facing the wall. "Sorry."

Sam sighed again, then stroked one hand over her hair, pushing it away from her face. Dean turned and stared as he leaned down and kissed her forehead, right between her eyebrows.

"I'm gonna take care of this for you," he said. "I know it sucks, but we're going to fix it."

She'd heard that one before. The last stupid promise Sam gave her, while wearing the same too-earnest expression as right now, still wound up with her spending decades on the rack. She nodded anyway, leaning into his hand. She didn't even care that he kept her hair between his fingers and her prickly cheeks. He still wanted to make the promise, and that was almost enough to send her blinking back tears. Christ, she must have drunk more than she'd realized.

"Yeah, Sammy," she said. "I know we are."

He smiled, then combed his fingers out of her hair and stretched out on his own side of the bed. Dean moved one hand towards him once he turned out his light, but she didn't cross over the invisible center of the bed. They didn't touch as they slept that night.

.

She swung her legs out of bed the next morning and regretted the movement. Her stomach felt fine, but her head pounded and her eyes hurt. She wasn't looking forward to another day of research and legwork.

Sam was still sleeping the sleep of the well-hydrated, and Dean dragged herself to the bathroom alone. One of the motel's free plastic glasses was still behind the faucet, unused. She fumbled it out of its wrapper and filled it three times before she felt a little better. She poked at her face while she brushed her teeth with the other hand, prodding at the bags under her eyes and the sallowness of her cheeks and her stubble, and then spat.

She eyed the shower while she peed but tucked herself into her boxers when she finished and headed back to bed instead, grabbing up her flask and knocking back a swallow on the way. The sun wasn't all the way up yet, and daylight was barely bleeding gray through the windows when she got back between the sheets. Sam rolled her way but she turned towards the far wall instead of towards him. Nothing would keep him from scooting up behind her, but at least she wouldn't be responsible for that.

It was brighter when she woke again. Light streamed stronger through the gap between the curtains and Dean blinked at it a few times before getting up. She filled herself another cup of water and brought it to the table to fine-tooth the notes. Again.

Sam joined her about an hour later. She felt self-conscious about sitting in nothing but her underwear, but the room was warm enough, and it was nothing she hadn't done before. He looked away from her anyway and made some coffee. He brought her some as well when he came to the table, and it was just a shitty cup of coffee that the motel gave away for free, but she smiled into it anyway.

"I don't know where to go from here," he said, after they both slurped their coffee and stared at the paper trail for a while. "We've been through everything, there's nothing in Dad's journal about it, Bobby said he can't find anything..." He trailed off and shook his head. "I dunno."

"It's only been like three days," she said. Sam got off on research, on obscure lore, and if he thought it was a long shot, she didn't like to think about what that meant.

"I know."

"We should go to the library," she said. Sam raised his eyebrows and she shrugged. "Maybe it's local. Maybe we're making it into some huge-scale thing and it's just a curse on the area or something."

He nodded along, his expression already shifting. "I don't think it'd be in the news, but folk songs, regional literature, something along those lines."

"Myth for everything," Dean said, and smiled back when Sam grinned at her. She finished her coffee and stood. "I'm gonna shower."

He pulled over his computer and opened it. "I'll start Googling while you're in there."

"Don't —" _rub one out to it,_ she almost called over her shoulder, but walked it back to, "sprain anything." She shut the door before Sam answered and turned on the shower, letting the rush of the water fill the air.

She wrinkled her nose when it came time to get dressed again, though. She'd worn this outfit of Sam's for the past two days — sweated in it, and dropped a few fries on it, and got sloppy drunk in it. It hadn't exactly been clean to begin with, and it didn't fit well. She wound up just putting on the boxers and coming out of the bathroom with the towel hung around her neck, down over her chest.

"Actually," she said, not looking at Sam. "I think I'm gonna need some new clothes first."

.

Dean had shopped for men's clothes for most of her life, and borrowed from Sam's stuff whenever she needed, so she wasn't over her head once they got to a resale shop. Sam's jeans fit her in the waist, so she picked up two pair in the same size, with shorter inseams, and draped them over one shoulder as she kept going. Tee shirts were easy: just a bunch of dark neutrals. Sam wandered away from her when she hit the rack of long-sleeved shirts, and by the time she had enough warm stuff to last her a week, he'd brought back a grey suit and a few ties. Dean wrinkled her nose at it. She glanced at the other side of the store, at the brightly-colored pantsuits on display, and sighed.

"Really?" she asked.

Sam shrugged. "At least three weeks. Better to have it now than need it later."

She sucked the inside of her cheek but nodded.

"They don't have any dress shoes here," Sam was saying, "so we'll have to go somewhere else after this."

Dean nodded and headed towards the back of the store. She took a few steps without Sam following her, and when she turned back to check where he was, he frowned at her.

"Where're you going?" he asked.

"Dressing room." She gestured at the sign behind her.

Sam's face flickered through something close to annoyance. "It's guy's stuff, it'll fit."

"I wanna check the suit."

Sam pursed his lips, then shrugged and came along. "You'll see, but whatever."

He sat in an overstuffed chair while she ducked into one of the booths and changed, rapid-fire. Dean winced when she caught a glimpse of her flat chest in the mirror, in the process of changing shirts, and eventually she just turned her back.

The suit looked about as good on her as Sam's looked on him. "Good enough for government work," she muttered, then got back into Sam's clothes. It fit, technically, but none of it felt the way she was used to. The shirts hung way too loose, and the jeans were somehow worse. The waistband worked, but the legs didn't ride close enough to her skin at all. She felt like she should be in a motel somewhere, catching a bit of downtime and wearing Sam's clothes just to see how long before he peeled her out of them.

"It work?" he asked, once she came back out. Dean dumped the clothes into his arms, then dug through the pile to take out both pairs of jeans.

"Yeah," she said. "How about you head up front and I'll meet you at the counter."

She kept one ear on Sam as he checked out. The guy behind the counter hadn't rung everything up yet when Dean finished going through the rack of pants again. She brought a few pairs of slim-fit jeans to the counter and hoped they'd fit in the waist like the other stuff had. Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't question her until they got outside.

"What's with the jeans?" he asked.

"The others were too loose." She put the bags into the back seat before getting behind the wheel.

"What?" Sam frowned. "I thought you got regular fit."

"I know. That was the problem." She leaned across the seat, grabbed a handful of denim at the outside of Sam's thigh, and tugged towards her a few times. "See that? Too loose."

Sam laughed as she started the engine. "Dean, that's how men's jeans fit."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I want to wear them that way."

They stopped by Wal-Mart next, for underwear and socks and dress shoes. Dean trailed one hand over the fabric of the blouses nearest the aisle when they passed Misses clothing. It was mostly floral stuff, and none of it was anything she'd have picked for herself last week, but right now, it seemed infinitely better than the bags of ill-fitting, boring stuff in the car.

They picked up their laundry next, and then went to a laundromat. Sam sorted his own clothes into three machines while Dean went through her new things, taking off tags before adding the clothes to his washers. While the clothes tumbled, Dean hunched further into Dad's coat, Sam's shirt. When the thrift store clothes were dry, they'd be _hers_. She wouldn't be borrowing anymore. She wouldn't be able to duck her nose into the collar anymore and know she was in her — her Sam's clothes, even if no one else knew it. She'd still be keeping a secret, in these new clothes, but it wouldn't be fun any more.

If she only folded Sam's clothes when they stood shoulder to shoulder at the folding table, arms brushing in new places as they worked, he didn't call her on it.

Dean packed her new stuff back into the shopping bags instead of putting them into the laundry duffel. It wasn't until they got back to the room that she realized her real clothes were still in her own duffel, still dirty. Sam must have only grabbed his own stuff. She threw the bags on top of her stuff, not caring when one of her flannel shirts slithered out onto the floor, and fell face-first onto their bed.

.

They spent the next day at the library and a local museum, pouring over boxes of handwritten lyrics, and slender collections of stories published by the local community college, and three quilts, one with a huge and branching family tree stitched into the back. They didn't come up with anything useful, though. There weren't any legends of shapeshifters, or witchcraft, or unnatural punishments for strangers who lied to their hosts. The librarian, who was very taken with the premise for the novel Sam said they were writing, sent them to the historical society the second afternoon. Dean caught Sam's eyes at the front desk, as soon as she made the suggestion, and frowned. He had the good grace not to match her expression there, but he sighed on the way to the car.

"What do you think," she asked him, "historians or widows this time?"

"They could be both," he said, more to irritate her than to make a point if his smirk meant anything. Dean rolled her eyes.

"Probably just be even harder to deal with," she said. "And I vote widows."

She turned out to be right. Although Sam made a good guess about historically-minded little old ladies, they were more tuned towards local military events than anything that would help Dean. She and Sam spent the rest of the afternoon having tea with the society's president anyway. No matter how much they pressed her about anything supernatural, even rumors or legends or stories that each generation of kids told, she didn't come up with anything.

"You think she was holding something back?" Sam asked, back in the car.

"No," Dean said, staring out the front with both hands on the wheel.

"Neither do I." He thunked his head against the window for a moment. Dean sighed and started the car.

"So maybe it's not local," she said. "Maybe it's regional. We should look at the surrounding states, too."

He thunked his head again. "And if that doesn't pan out?"

"Then we go national after that," Dean said. She glanced around for a likely place for dinner. "What do you want to eat?"

"Don't care." He sat up some but kept looking out the window.

"Well, we're pretty sure it's not related to anywhere we've eaten, right?" Dean shrugged. "I really did like that pizza place we went to a few nights ago, so if that's not going to whammy us again, I say there."

Sam shrugged. "Sounds fine to me."

They wound up at the room after dinner, both of them settling in to the same research ruts they'd been stuck in for the past few days. Dean pulled out her flask as she poked around at the lore for the area, starting with the state and then backing out further to focus on the region: there was too much information. She usually needed time to think things through before she could start putting pieces together, and the more she looked into the area, the less any of it made sense. Eventually she just put her computer aside and went to flop down on the bed.

She wasn't tired, but she was, somehow, bored and tense at the same time. She glanced at Sam, still working at the table, and sighed. Used to be, under that combo of feelings, she'd drag him to bed for a while, but instead, she let him keep typing. She watched him for a little longer, then sighed and stood up. "I'm gonna grab a shower."

He swallowed, she _saw_ him, but he still didn't glance over. "Okay."

She hadn't touched herself, really, since she got changed over. It wasn't like she used to have her hands inside her panties all day long or anything, but she'd tried to avoid the dick, her dick, as much as she could since it appeared. Since Sam was doing the same thing, it meant she hadn't been getting off at all, for going on a week. She turned on the shower and stripped carefully, then stared at the closed door for a while. She was pretty certain that Sam wasn't going to be walking in on her now, but even if he did, she was okay with that.

Just thinking about Sam set her dick to twitching and filling. Dean raised an eyebrow at it, then stepped into the shower. She washed her hair first, not really sure if she wanted to pay attention or not as her cock got hard without any help from her. By the time she smoothed conditioner into her hair, though, it was a pressing enough issue that she couldn't ignore it anymore, and she wrapped a slick hand around herself. She stroked a few times, using the slow, easy movements she pulled out when she first got a guy out of their pants, and sighed as she just kept getting harder. She could see why this made guys groan and buck into her hands — the touch was too light to be what she needed. She increased the speed of her strokes and the strength of her grip, thrusting harder and faster into her hand.

Dean thought through the things she did for guys, the things she did for Sam, but couldn't decide what to try first. She wasn't used to going so long without moving on to something else, much less using this angle, so she went for what Sam liked when he was close: faster and tighter, just _more_.

Coming in this body was completely different than what she was used to, but somehow, still exactly the same. There was the tensing of her entire body, the frantic motion of her hand as she got herself all the way there, the rushing release that dragged her hips along in its wake. Dean closed her eyes through it, not wanting to watch, and when she opened them again, her jizz had been washed away.

She wasn't used to getting off in the shower, and maybe the water combined with the inability to go directly to sleep afterwards were what made it really seem different. She stood under the spray until she caught her breath, then turned around to rinse her hair out before turning off the water and toweling herself dry.

Sam glanced at her when she got out, wearing only boxers with her hair dripping onto her shoulders, but he looked back to his computer right away, flushed. Dean sighed and tossed the clothes she'd taken off towards her bag before getting into bed. She curled up on her side, facing away from him, with the papers spread out before her, and listened to his random bursts of typing while she tried to come up with some answer, until she fell asleep.

.

She watched Sam for a while the next morning, when she woke up before he did. His hair was starting to get greasy around his temples, he was growing a killer zit right over one cheekbone, and the pillowcase under his mouth was drool-damp. She missed him.

She wouldn't have owned up to it, even if he'd asked her to her face, but she did. Here was Sam, the best sex she'd ever had, and the only real partner she'd ever worked with, and pretty much the focus of her entire life, but she couldn't have him anymore. He was only an arm's length away but he didn't want her like this, and yeah, Dean missed him.

It'd taken them so long to get here, to where they were both as happy as she figured they were gonna get. They danced around each other forever, since the first time she'd ducked out of the bathroom mid-shower, in search of her razor, and found Sam jerking off in bed, staring at the bathroom door. They held out through a series of poorly timed, mostly forgotten drunken come-ons throughout the years, alternating which one of them would make the innuendo like they were following some schedule, but that ended with everything else in Dean's life, when Sam died.

"You can't tell me you're still gonna draw that line," Sam had said from his own bed, the first night they had a chance to get a motel and catch their breath. He'd been stretched out on his belly with his arms folded under his pillow, like he was waiting for a massage instead of hitting on his sister, and the light from the window reflected in his eyes as he watched her.

_Three hundred forty-four days left_, she'd thought, and then took the two barefoot steps that separated their beds, and climbed in between his sheets. They hadn't done much that night, she was so afraid of fucking up his back again, but it'd been enough to get the point across.

They still weren't anything like exclusive for a long time. Apparently they could end the world easier than they could take fifteen fucking minutes to talk things out like grown-ups, but the hours in bed, after they finally fumbled their way through that conversation, had been worth it. It'd been enough to make Dean understand why people took honeymoons, why people got married in the first place.

And here they were, less than three months into that stupid honeymoon phase, and it was gone. Sam was on his own side of the bed like they were nothing to each other, like she was his sister and nothing more. Dean wanted him back something fierce.

She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, and stayed there until he yawned, and stirred, and got out of bed. He stretched by the side of the bed, popping his hips the way he did every morning, and then headed into the bathroom. She thought about getting up and scurrying into her clothes before he came back out, but stayed in bed for a few moments longer. Sam came out of the bathroom eventually, still wearing what he'd slept in, and she closed her eyes and kept her breathing steady as he dressed.

They'd decided to start slogging their way through the local historical markers that day, and so they spent a boring morning visiting old houses that had been turned into museums, and an old rail station that had been turned into a museum, and an old school house that only escaped being a museum by falling apart. It was out in the middle of nowhere, almost an hour outside of town, and Dean let Sam drive back so she could doze in the sun as they went.

Sam shook her awake eventually, wrapping his hand around her shoulder so his thumb brushed the side of her neck, and Dean sat up straighter and looked up and down the street. He'd parked at a meter and was already out of the car, feeding quarters into the machine, by the time Dean unbuckled.

They hadn't been in this section of the town before. It wasn't downtown, really, since none of the buildings were taller than three stories and there weren't any sort of corporate businesses that she could see. Instead, it seemed to be a historical-slash-tourist district. Every other shop was either a kitschy cafe or a kitschy gift shop, and the people walking around were distinctly all of the same group — older couples with overdone hair, wearing pastels and toting huge bags, and some trailing kids with their arms crossed tight and their headphones in place.

"There's a coffee shop down that way," Sam said, when she joined him on the sidewalk. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and nodded down the street. Dean followed his gaze, and yeah, there _was_ a coffee place, almost two blocks down and on the other side of the road.

"So why'd you park all the way over here?" Dean could smell coffee somewhere closer, and when she looked behind them, she found a Starbucks two doors down. She rolled her eyes, but right now, she wanted fast caffeine slightly more than she cared about where she got it. "C'mon," she said, and elbowed Sam before turning around.

She heard him chuckling after her as he followed. It was almost empty inside, which made her think the local place had been the better choice, like always, but at least there wasn't a wait. The only other person in the store finished stirring sugar into her paper cup and left by the time Sam and Dean placed their orders.

Four kids were working. Although one of them disappeared into the back for a moment before coming back with a bottle of Windex and a rag, the other two just leaned against the wall and watched as the last barista made drinks. The first closed the door and started squirting down the glass. It smelled like ammonia almost immediately and Dean wondered why they didn't use something with a better scent.

"Okay, here's one for Sam," the guy making the coffee said. He slid it across the counter with a huge smile and Dean noticed he wasn't wearing a name tag. She checked the other baristas, leaning against the wall and looking as excited to be there as the tourist kids on the streets, and saw that neither of them had tags on, either. She glanced at Sam out of the corner of her eyes, but he was sipping his coffee without acting like anything was wrong. She stepped closer to him and slid one hand into her back pocket, after her knife.

The barista smiled real big at her again before turning and filling her cup of black coffee — and maybe this was just a weird shop, maybe everyone working today was new and didn't do things right, but he should have poured hers first, since she hadn't ordered anything complicated. She wriggled the knife up into her sleeve and put her arm back by her side. She'd still need to flick it open before she could use it, but it was, at least, right at hand.

The other baristas pushed off the counter as one when he turned, put a lid on the cup, and passed it to Dean. She let it sit on the counter without touching it and he kicked his shit-eating grin up a notch. Sam shifted next to her, paying attention after all, but the barista didn't glance at him.

"And here's one for Deanna," he said. His eyes flashed black for a moment before swinging back to green. "You kids enjoy now."

Dean dropped the butterfly knife into her hand and opened it on autopilot. "Who are you?" she asked.

The demon shrugged. It kept the eyes looking human but the two demons behind it sent theirs black, and when Dean glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the fourth demon had its eyes dark as well, as it leaned against the closed door.

"Doesn't matter," the first demon said, and then finally turned to Sam. "I think you know who sent us, though."

"Lucifer," he said. He'd tossed his coffee to the side so it wouldn't be underfoot, and he had Ruby's old knife in his hand instead. Good, except Dean didn't know how they were supposed to slash their way out of a Starbucks in broad daylight without being noticed.

"Right in one," he said, and nodded to Dean. "Think of this as a little incentive. Soon as you say the word, she goes back into her body and we can get this show on the road."

"She goes back and then I'm stuck as a vessel for the apocalypse? I'll pass."

"No rush, of course." The demon shrugged and started making another drink, stepping behind the machinery and pouring milk into one of the big metal cups. "Works out for us either way, of course, since she's no use to Michael like this." He flashed his teeth at Dean and she wanted to snarl back.

"What do you mean?" she asked instead.

"Not the right body," the demon said. It swept a finger through the hot milk and sucked on it without flinching. "I mean, you could still consent just for shits and giggles, but it won't be the same. You're just not the best fit in this body, princess." It swept its gaze back to Sam, and changed its grin to a leer. "But I think you already know that."

"So that's the big plan?" Dean said, and then snorted. She could see Sam angle himself towards the door and so she spread her hands, hoping to draw the demon's attention. Sure enough, the demon doing the talking kept its eyes on her, but only one of the demons behind it watched her, and she had no way of checking the demon behind her without being obvious. "Because I gotta tell you, putting a price on my head was more subtle than this."

The demon snorted and glanced to the side, then leaned forward. Dean adjusted her grip on the knife and saw Sam come onto his toes. "You know, that's _just_ what I thought. So obvious." It grinned. "And if you're gonna go obvious, why not go all the way?"

Dean managed to get her hands up in time to slash a good one across the demon's borrowed arm, but it moved too fast, grease-smooth, and wound its hands in her shirt to toss her easily across the shop. She hit something hard and solid when she landing, and it sent pain flaring through her chest. Everything jostled together when she crumpled to the floor, hurting almost worse than the actual hit, and when she tried to get up, the world grayed out instead.

The place reeked of sulphur when she came all the way back around. Someone was shaking her shoulders, just making everything hurt more, and when she reached up to bat the hands away, the person laughed once, anxious and not at all sounding like things were funny. Sam.

She opened her eyes and found him crouched in front of her. He let go of her shoulders and patted over the sides of her head and chest. She hissed when he touched her sides and he set his jaw.

"Sammy, you'd better tell me you didn't." He nose wasn't bleeding or anything, but she didn't know how the fuck he'd taken care of four demons by himself if he hadn't —

"They left when I went for the first one," he said, and glanced behind him. "I think they were just passing on the message or something." Dean looked over his shoulder as well and found the counter covered in blood, but all four baristas huddled, mostly uninjured, behind it. The guy Dean cut had a green apron wrapped around his arm while one of his coworkers held it. They all skittered back under Sam and Dean's gaze and she wondered why they hadn't ducked into the break room, if maybe there was a trap there or a still-possessed manager or something.

"Dean," Sam was saying, like he'd been trying to get her attention for a while. She blinked. "We need to get outta here. Can you walk?"

She twitched her feet and nodded. "Just help me up."

Sam frowned but grabbed her hands and hauled her up. She moaned as whatever it was, probably a fucking rib with her luck, shifted around in her chest, but once she regained her feet, it wasn't too hard to lean her good side against Sam and let him lead her towards the door.

The baristas scattered away when they passed the counter. Dean turned her head to watch them for as long as she could and saw one of the kids was crying. "Maybe there was no way outta the back," she said to Sam, as he pushed open the door.

"Uh huh." He paused for a moment, looking up and down the street, before hustling them into the car. He got her into the front seat way faster than was comfortable. She checked out the meter and saw they still had time, but Sam pulled back into traffic before she could mention it.

"Just hold on a sec," he said. "We're almost there."

Dean hummed. She stared out the window as they left downtown, and then let her eyes unfocus as Sam took them back to the motel. She was barely awake when he ran inside and gathered up their stuff, and even though she tried not to, she fell asleep as he headed out of town, running.

.

She tried to pull away from Sam once they got into the new room, and he did let go of her long enough to lock the door and pour a new line of salt. Dean made her way to the bed and sat down slowly, trying not to bend much.

"You think they're broken?" he asked.

She tried to move, then hissed when pain radiated through her chest. "At least bruised to hell and back."

"You would know, I guess." He dropped to his knees in front of her and untied her boots, then tapped each knee in turn for her to lift her feet. Dean watched his hair shift and fall around his face as he worked. "You think you can get out of the jacket?"

"Yeah," she said, even though actually doing it would be a bitch. She dropped one shoulder and tugged at the sleeve with the other hand, gritting her teeth. She couldn't get it all the way down, not really even close, but Sam took over without making her ask. The tee shirt was snug enough, the way clothes were supposed to fit a woman, that she didn't think getting it off would be fun. She closed her eyes.

"How about we cut it?" Sam had slipped into the low tone of voice he clearly thought was soothing, even though she was so used to hearing it when things were fucked that it only wound her up tighter.

"Whatever."

Sam touched her thigh, just once, before standing and walking off. Dean opened her eyes and saw him going through the bags. He came back with the first aid kits, her flask, and two pills in his palm, and Dean knocked them back without asking what they were.

He cut up the front of her new shirt, sending the scissors between her pecs, and then up the back, following her spine. He pulled the fabric away one half at a time, so she didn't have to move, and Dean smiled at him when he glanced up. He was so good to her sometimes; sometimes, she barely knew what to do about it.

"Drugs kicking in?" he asked, grinning back just a little.

She tipped her head to the side instead of shrugging. "Guess so."

Sam stared at her for a moment longer. He still had a smear of blood on his cheek and Dean bit her lip hard as she raised one hand to rub it away. He leaned into her, then shook his head, like he didn't know how much she wanted to touch him, and took a roll of bandages from the kit.

"Let's get this wrapped up," he said.

Dean tried to sit still while he prodded at her sides, and then wrapped the bandages around her. The pressure helped almost as much as the drugs had. It felt like her body was all back where it belonged, at least for the moment.

"Alright," Sam said, when the roll was empty. "Better?"

Dean sighed. It still hurt. "Much as it's gonna get, I think."

"Good," Sam said, and put his hands on the mattress, one on either side of her legs, to lean up and kiss her.

She made this _noise_ against his mouth, this punched-out bastardized sigh that never would have happened except for the injury, and the drugs, and the touch-starved week leading up to this night, but Sam took it for what it was. Dean's mouth was open for him, always open for him, and he slid his tongue between her lips like he'd been dreaming about it, like he'd thought he'd never get another chance. Their stubble rasped together as Dean turned her head to the side. She laughed at the thought of Sam sporting beard burn the next day, and when he tried to pull back, always too curious for her liking, she chased after his mouth to keep the question from getting out.

Dean covered Sam's hands with her own, holding onto his wrists, and they made out for a long time there on the edge of the bed. Neither of them took it further than slow kisses. Dean wished for her own body again, this time so Sam would be up for the careful, drugged sex she wanted, but she doubted she could even get it up at this point.

He broke away with a laugh when she yawned against his mouth. "Let's get to — sleep," he said, and closed his eyes. "You should rest."

Dean wanted to argue, wanted to stay right where she was with his tongue in her mouth, but she yawned again instead, and he laughed and stood.

Sam hovered right behind her while she brushed her teeth, and when she rubbed a wet washcloth over her face, and when she took a leak. He didn't touch her, but when she tucked herself back into her boxers, Sam wouldn't meet her eyes, either. His cheeks were pink when he helped her out of her jeans.

She was left in her socks and underwear and she shivered. Sam looked her up and down, frowning, before wrapping his hands around her waist. She didn't look down to compare the position of his hands to where they usually sat on her body, low on her hips, but she didn't think he noticed the difference.

Dean leaned up and managed to smack their noses together before she readjusted and kissed him. Sam moved as easily with her as he had on the bed, but he pulled back first, leaning their foreheads together.

"Dean," he said. She felt the word on her lips.

"I thought you weren't into guys," she said, then winced. She couldn't have let it go? She couldn't have just let them have this afternoon, whatever was going to happen? She shook her head, opened her mouth to cram her foot in further, but then Sam's lips were on hers again, urgent and too wet.

"You didn't get up," he said, into her mouth. Dean opened her eyes and found his closed tight. "You hit the wall and you didn't move and, Dean, if we never —" He put his hands on her face and exhaled shakily. "Dean."

She swallowed. "I'm right here, Sammy. It's okay."

He shook his head and then kissed her again. "Bed," he said. "Sleep."

She sighed at that, but between the drugs and her body's own responses, she was crashing hard. "Yeah," she said.

Sam helped her into bed before stripping down himself. She lay propped on a stack of pillows, and watched him with her eyes almost closed. He rolled his eyes in her direction as he pulled the curtains and turned off the lights, and then slid into bed. He squirmed around a lot before inching close to her. Eventually Dean lost patience and tugged him up onto the pillows with her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." She smiled and let her eyes fall closed.

The covers lifted up as Sam moved his hand to hover over her chest. She could imagine him trying to figure out exactly how to touch her when her body was either injured or just wrong. He finally settled on the shoulder closest to him, wrapping his fingers around her shoulder so that his pinky brushed her neck and his arm rested on top of hers.

"This is weird," he whispered.

"Preaching to the choir, man."

"No, I mean." He sighed. "I miss you, you know? You're right here, but I do anyway. I don't know how to act around you anymore."

Dean turned her face towards his. Sam rolled onto his side and hooked a knee over hers. He kept his hand steady on her shoulder. Dean kept quiet until she fell asleep.

.

She had Sam rent a storage unit the next day and park the car there, hoping that stashing it away would keep them off of everyone's radar, and that nothing would get it past the salt and traps he laid.

"All we have to do is not order from the same place more than once until you're feeling better," he said, around slurps of coffee, "and those demons can't find us."

Dean frowned at his easy optimism, but they would be a more noticeable target on the road and she knew it, so she kept quiet.

They watched TV all that first day, when Dean stayed so stoned on the pills and whiskey Sam fed her that she didn't want to get out of bed, much less drive cross-country only to hole up somewhere else. Sam stayed dressed throughout the morning, but when she woke up from her post-lunch nap, she found him sleeping next to her in sweats and nothing else. After he woke up, too, they made out for a long time.

He was so careful with her. Dean got her hands all over him now she had the chance again, chest and arms and back, but he barely touched her. He kept his fingers in her hair, or on the soft skin on the inside of her arms, and he held their hips far apart. It felt like junior high, like the preacher's son who'd been her first real boyfriend, but Dean didn't mind. They could do slow, if slow was what Sam needed.

She felt sweaty and gross when they broke apart, though, and from the damp hair at Sam's temples, she guessed he felt the same. Dean raised her arm to sniff and laughed after she did.

"Help me up," she said. "I need a shower."

"I didn't want to be the one to bring it up, but yeah, you seriously do." He wormed one arm under her back and lifted, so she wouldn't have to flex all the muscles to do it herself. Dean flipped him the bird once he got her to her feet.

Sam left after turning on the water and unwinding her bandage. As nice as it felt to have the elastic off her chest, it also meant her ribs started to ache again. She ducked under the hot water and let it beat down over her back, spreading heat. She didn't scrub herself too enthusiastically, but she got a good lather going and managed to spread it over most of her body. It would have been better to have Sam, but she managed.

Dean scrubbed between her legs, nudging her balls out of the way, and her dick twitched about it. She glanced towards the closed door and then cupped herself in her hand, rubbing her thumb back and forth over her shaft. It was sort of good, actually, just a bit of contact under the warm water, and she felt better when she let go.

Sam knocked on the door a few moments after she turned off the water. "Need a hand?"

She scowled in his direction, but reaching up to dry her hair sucked, and she couldn't deny that she did need the help. "If you want," she called back, and wrapped a towel around her waist.

Sam let himself in. He had some fresh clothes in one hand and her flask in the other. When she raised an eyebrow, Sam shrugged. "This is probably gonna suck," he said. "Thought you might want it."

She frowned at him, then held out her hand. "So give it here."

"Do you, uh," Sam said, after she'd had a couple of swallows. Dean opened her eyes and saw him blushing. He held a pair of boxers in one hand, and his other hovered over her towel.

"Yeah," she said. "Do you think you could..." Dean trailed off but Sam nodded and set his jaw.

On his knees, once he loosened the towel and pulled it away, he was eye-level with her dick. He looked for a moment, almost frowning. Dean was glad for the extra sip of whiskey she'd taken before he got to work, because she stayed nice and limp now, as unthreatening as she was gonna get. When Sam glanced back to her face, he was blushing. Dean raised one eyebrow and he flushed further.

"Step," he said, and held up her boxers. Dean steadied herself with one hand on his shoulder and did.

.

Dean cut her meds in half the next day. She wound up upping her whiskey as a result, once her ribs made themselves more noticeable, but it was a different sort of buzz. She was used to the world being this kind of fuzzy.

Sam brought her laptop to her after lunch, and then brought his own to bed as well. They worked side by side, propped against the headboard. Dean checked her email and searched through her usual links, then came across a picture of a cat someone thought was cursed. It wasn't, of fucking course, but she got sucked into spending the next two hours in the Cheezburger blogring, and thought it might as well have been. She got back to work, then closed the computer and put it on her bedside table when it started warning her about the battery charge. She couldn't curl up against Sam the way she wanted to, but she scooted closer to him and lay down, pressing their sides together. Sam smiled at her, then typed a little longer before putting his laptop aside as well.

"Hey," he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. He squirmed until their faces were level and leaned in to kiss her. It went on for a long time, just lying next to each other and pressing their tongues into each other's mouths, before Sam shifted. He rolled onto his side and pushed one hand into Dean's hair while he pressed his hips against her thigh.

He was hard.

Dean sucked in a breath through her nose, but she didn't pull away. Sam just stayed tight against her. He wasn't grinding into her, but Dean reacted to what that pressure on her body always meant. It meant sex. Even if this was only because Sam was glad she was alive, whatever. She'd run with it.

Except she couldn't roll on her side to face him, and the idea of Sam lying on top of her sounded just as bad. Dean pulled back and frowned at him while she tried to figure out the logistics here and Sam frowned back.

"Can we try something?" he asked. "I've got an idea, but I dunno how it'll work."

Dean watched him watch her for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Kay."

Sam untangled them and helped her sit up, then shucked out of his clothes and sat back against the headboard with his legs spread. "Sit," he said, and patted the bit of coverlet between his thighs. "Right here."

Dean worked her way into his lap, to sit with her back against his chest. Sam's arms wrapped around her and his dick pressed slickly against the small of her back. She let out a shaky breath as she relaxed into him, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder and spreading her knees, so that her thighs rested against his. Her dick was hard, standing against her belly, and Dean closed her eyes when Sam started creeping one hand towards the waistband of her boxers. She didn't know that she wanted to see this, now that they were here.

"I figure, it'll be like I'm touching myself." Sam's breath felt hot against her ear. He rubbed her through the fabric first, pressing lightly, and Dean sighed into his throat. She grabbed his knees so she'd have something to do with her hands, and he laughed a little underneath her, always ticklish, before settling down again.

"You're cool with this?" she asked.

Sam kept tracing over her dick instead of answering for a while, and Dean started rolling her hips to try to move him along. He kept to his own pace, though, and eventually slid his hand into the underwear and wrapped his fingers around her, gripping her firmly. She'd never done this outside the shower and it was almost too dry, but not enough that she made him stop. Sam met the pace she set with her hips and let her just fuck, just gasp against his jaw and claw at his legs and thrust up.

"I'm not saying it's not weird." He settled his free hand over one nipple, pinching the same way he had with her real tits. Dean bit her lip. "Because it's pretty fucking strange," he went on, right into her ear. "But it's not like I thought it'd be."

"Uh huh," Dean said. "Sammy, you gotta do something here, it's —"

She hadn't known how to tease this body, even though she could make Sam curse and squirm under her easily. Maybe it was like tickling yourself or something, because she'd never gotten herself this worked up in the bathroom, and Sam wasn't even _doing_ anything, not really.

He laughed and tightened his fingers on her cock. He moved his other hand down her torso, between her legs, and cupped her balls for a moment. They drew up tightly against her body but Dean didn't shoot until he slipped his hand further down, to rub just in front of her hole.

She gasped and clenched, her entire body tightening up, as she came. Her chest hurt, probably because of the heaving breaths she couldn't control, and she was getting come everywhere. Her thighs, her boxers, some on Sam's hand. She could still feel him hard behind her.

She leaned on him and let him touch her through the twitchy aftershocks until they stopped being fun and started being too much. Sam wiped his hand on the bedspread and then wrapped his arms around her again, mouthing at her cheek until she turned and gave him her lips. Dean was too wiped to do much more than open her mouth and let him kiss her, but once she came down enough to get her breathing back to normal, she sat up, wriggled out of the messy boxers, and climbed back into his lap, this time facing him.

Sam wrapped his hands carefully around her waist and tugged her closer to him, so their bellies brushed. Dean fought the urge to suck hers in, and linked her arms loosely around his neck instead.

"And?" She raised her eyebrows. "Sexuality still in place?"

He rolled his eyes and thrust against her belly, still sticky and hard.

"Mmm, that's what I like to hear." Dean reached between them and grabbed his dick. It felt smaller in her newly big hands, but he still jerked under her touch.

Dean lifted her hips and aimed Sam so he could thrust between her ass cheeks. She had a weird moment of deja vu, when she saw the way she would have ridden Sam in this position if she still had her pussy, but Sam didn't seem to mind. He readjusted his grip so he had her by the ass and started rubbing himself against her immediately.

Dean linked her fingers behind his head as she watched him. He kept his eyes on hers for a moment, but he closed them when he actually came, wet between her cheeks. He squeezed her flesh together around his dick as he finished, making the same gasping noise as always. Dean watched his brow gather, his mouth fall open, his eyes squeeze tighter shut. He was still so familiar, even with his face framed by her new arms, and Dean suddenly wondered if she'd gotten the easy end of this deal after all.

.

It didn't happen again, not right away.

Sam got out of bed and showered alone, and when he came back out, skin looking pink and brand new, he'd backed off hard.

"We need to get some work done," he said while toweling his hair off, even though they'd _been_ working before the messing around. Dean, who hadn't done much more than wipe up and get into some underwear — easier to do lying down but still not a cakewalk — frowned at him for a moment before smoothing her face and nodding. She knew that set to his jaw.

The cord for her computer wouldn't reach from any of the outlets to the bed, so Dean sat at the table. She and Sam switched notes after an hour or so, so they could double-check each other's work. Half of their lists were ideas they'd both had, but Sam's other items didn't seem to be panning out any more than Dean's.

"Do you think any of this'll actually work?" Dean lowered the lid to her laptop and raised her eyebrows at Sam.

"Yes." He answered too quickly and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Well, I don't see how." She waved at Sam's list, which featured her own scribbles along the edges and at the bottom. "Because none of this'll work the way we need it to, and I don't think you'd still be sitting there going through my notes if one of those ideas would work."

He sighed and shoved his hands through his hair. "Something has to work. It _has_ to. This can't be the only way."

"There's that ritual."

Sam looked up at her.

"I mean, it should still work anyway, from what I read about it." She shrugged. "There's still that."

Sam frowned. "Menstrual blood from a virgin," he said.

"So we hit up a middle school and steal used pads from the girl's room or something. Creepy as fuck, but not undoable."

"Dean —"

"We don't negotiate with terrorists, Sammy," she said, as gently as she could manage. She couldn't blame him for not knowing where to go from here when she knew exactly how he felt. "He's got us by the short ones, but that doesn't mean he's gonna get what he wants."

Sam closed his eyes. "What if that means we never get you, this, whatever, fixed?"

Dean pulled a face but tried to keep her voice light. "Then I stick it out like this." He looked up at her and she shrugged. "It's hardly my first choice, but it beats being dead. I can handle it."

"Yeah, I know _you_ can," Sam said. "I don't think your willpower is the target here."

She eyed him. "Yours is."

He nodded.

"Well, fuck that," she said brightly. "Lucifer can smack me into a dude's body all day long, as far as I'm concerned. But if you give into him?" She raised her eyebrows and pointed at her lap. "You're never getting near my pants again, and never mind what's inside em."

Sam just nodded again. He stayed still when she reached across and ruffled his hair, so she smoothed it down and then stood. She crossed behind him, wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, and kissed the crown of his head. She knew how it felt to be wrapped up in strong arms like this and wondered how long Sam had gone without this. She hadn't been bigger than Sam in more than a decade, and even though she was still smaller than him now, she'd never had a chest this broad to pull him back against.

Sam didn't tug away and Dean held him there until he relaxed.

.

They slept on their own sides of the bed that night, and the next morning, Dean climbed out of bed and announced she wanted to keep moving.

"It's only been two days," he said.

She shrugged. "They're getting better. Not healed yet, but they're not as bad, either."

Sam frowned and made her hold still while he pressed his hands gently up and down her sides. The pressure hurt, sure, but it was a dull ache instead of the sharp pain an actual break would have caused.

"Not bluffing," she said, and grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I still think staying put is best."

"Yeah, well, I'm the one with the car, aren't I." She shot him another grin over her shoulder as she sat down on the edge of the bed to pull up her pants. "We'll go to Bobby's," she said. "See if he needs any help around the place."

"I'm pretty sure that if anyone doesn't need help around the place, it's Bobby."

She nodded. "There's stuff someone needs to go through, too, Ellen and Jo's." She stood to button her pants, then looked down at her other clothes. Sam was watching her too closely, so she went into the bathroom shirtless and got out her toothbrush. "Besides, I need to train."

"What?" Sam followed and leaned against the doorjamb as she brushed and then spat.

"I don't know this body like I did the old one," she said. "You saw that in the coffee shop."

"Yeah, but why does that mean going to Bobby's?"

She rolled her eyes. "You really wanna set up a practice range in the parking lot or something?" Dean pushed past him on her way back to her bag. She bent her knees as smoothly as possible to get the shopping bag, then stood and carried it to the bed. Sam tossed both duffels to the mattress a few moments later and she smiled without looking up. She pushed her real clothes, still tangled and dirty, out of the way and forced the plastic bag into the side of the duffel, then zipped everything closed.

"Besides," she said, "I gotta get used to driving again, too."

They collected the car and she wound up behind the wheel until they used up the first tank, far past when Dean started to hurt. When Sam got out to pump the gas, she tossed the keys to him and slid across the seat to take his place in shotgun.

"You're up," she said. When Sam pocketed the keys and went back to pumping, she sighed and rubbed her hand over her ribs.

"We should call Bobby," Sam said. He glanced at her through the windshield as he lifted the wipers and squeegeed the glass clean.

She shrugged. "Yeah, in a little bit."

"We're like three hours away," Sam said. "We need to let him know."

"He's not gonna turn us away if we don't call or something."

Sam rolled his eyes. He thunked the wipers back down harder than he should have, and then ignored Dean's shout about it.

She propped her elbow on the door and leaned her head on her hand as Sam finished and paid. He opened his mouth when he got back behind the wheel and Dean rolled her eyes.

"So call him then, god, whatever," she said. Sam frowned but found his phone and did.

It sounded a lot like the last conversation she listened to Sam have with Bobby. "Hey," he said, and "we're actually on our way to your place," and, "both of us, yeah," and, "few hours," and then he was frowning down at his phone when Bobby hung up on him.

Dean shifted around for a while as she tried to get comfortable. She used to be able to tuck her feet under herself and curl up against the door, but even without everything else, that wouldn't work with her ribs. She tried leaning her head straight back, but that hurt her neck. She looked over her shoulder at the empty back seat and wondered if she could manage to climb back while they were driving, and then Sam sighed.

"C'mere," he said, and lifted his arm to rest against the back of the seat. Dean scooted next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Sam was warm, and more forgiving than the door had been. She relaxed and closed her eyes, willing to let herself doze for a while.

Sam shook her awake when he turned into Bobby's driveway. Bobby had wheeled himself to the front door and sat waiting for them. He watched Dean as she walked towards the house. She stopped a few feet away from the front stoop, so they were eye-level, and stared back before trying to smile.

"Hi, Bobby."

He raised an eyebrow at her voice but nodded to her. He pushed himself backwards, inviting them in, and they followed one at a time. When he handed them bottles of beer already open, Dean clinked hers against Sam's and drank up.

Bobby's face almost fell when nothing happened. "Damn, kids, what the hell have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Something like that," Dean said. She grinned when Sam rolled his eyes.

"Long story," Sam said.

"Not too long, actually," Dean said. "Just weird."

"When isn't it weird?" Bobby turned the chair in a circle and led them into the kitchen. "Tell me what's going on."

There was a pot of soup on the stove and an empty bowl on the table. When Dean sidetracked to stir the pot, Bobby rolled his eyes.

"That was lunch, but you can heat it up again if you want more now."

"Great." She turned the knob and leaned against the counter, watching the soup come back to a boil, while Sam sat at the table and explained — most of — how she now had a dick.

She took her Glock into the junkyard when Sam and Bobby were still talking circles around each other, even after she'd put away two bowls of soup. The kickback wouldn't be fun to learn again, but this was better than the sawed-offs, and there wasn't much more she could get up to without Sam here to help — sparring, for example.

They'd been lining trash up at this clearing in the cars for as long as she'd known Bobby. He separated cans from his trash as carefully as a recycling yuppie, but it wound up out here instead of by the side of the road on trash day. Dean lined up ten, then took her place opposite the line, with her back to the house, and fired.

The first two shots went too high, the third grazed the top of the can and knocked it backwards, and by then, Dean figured out how to adjust for the differences. She hit the rest of the row, slid the safety on, and lowered her arms. Her side twinged but she ignored it and went to set up another line. With more strength in her arms and chest, Dean had thought shooting would be easier, once she adjusted to it. She'd forgotten about the change to her center of gravity, and about the loss of strength in her legs. She absorbed the kick easier, but it also threatened to knock her out of balance.

She'd have to relearn everything if she really was stuck in this body. Dean took aim again and hoped that middle schoolers today weren't _all_ starting early.

.

By the time Dean went back inside, Sam's list of solutions was spread in the middle of the kitchen table, surrounded by books. She leaned against the counter and stripped the Glock while she listened to them talk.

"But how do you know the demon wasn't just talking out its ass?" Bobby asked. "Demons —"

"— lie," Sam finished with him. "Trust me, I get that by now. How would this one have known otherwise, though?"

"Does it matter? Where's the proof?"

Sam frowned, then shrugged. "So, what else could it be?"

"Well, is this all you've got so far?"

"Pretty much."

Dean put the gun on the counter when she finished with it and walked up to the table, to stand behind Sam. Bobby nodded to her. She put one hand on Sam's shoulder as she leaned over the table and didn't realize, until she'd skimmed through some of the books, that Sam accepted the touch without stiffening up or moving away. It made her want to rub her thumb over his neck, but she thought _that_ might have been enough to startle him, so she didn't.

"I believed the demon," she said instead. Bobby raised his eyebrows and Sam craned his neck to peer up at her. "Lucifer's an angel, right? This feels like the shit the angels have been pulling, not like the demons."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"It's too subtle. Or not subtle enough, I dunno." She frowned and closed her eyes. "Demons like to give you the rope to hang yourself with — cutting deals and all. The angels have been the ones to just change things and try to manipulate you into it that way."

"Okay," Sam said, slowly enough that Dean opened her eyes and pushed away from his shoulder. "But how does that fit when Lucifer's an angel working with demons?"

She shook her head. "It just seems the same, you know? I've had the whole touched-by-an-angel thing way more that I'd like, and it felt a hell of a lot like this. Where they just fuck with your entire life and assume that'll make you play along."

Bobby tapped the sheet of paper and glanced at Sam. "I tend to agree, Sam. We've ruled out everything else, and I certainly hope the two of you did the same thing before you came here."

"So maybe it's something else we haven't heard of."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Son, if the three of us combined haven't heard of it, that doesn't give us anywhere to go."

Sam dropped his head and pressed his hand over his eyes. Dean hesitated for a moment before rubbing the exposed nape of his neck. Bobby glanced from her hand to her face but she ignored him.

"You're probably right," Sam said eventually.

Dean punched the air with her free hand.

"So what's your game plan?" Bobby asked.

"Same as it had been, I figured," Dean said. "Find some other way to kill him, only we'll have to get him to change me back first now."

Sam snorted and Dean pinched him before letting go.

"Well, if that's settled," Bobby said, rolling away from the table, "then how about y'all get dinner going while I look for a book in the other room."

"While you have a beer in the other room, you mean?" Sam called. Bobby snorted and kept going.

Dean crossed to the fridge and looked inside. "Hey, is Bobby friendly with the neighbors?"

"I think he goes for crotchety old hermit most of the time," Sam said. "Why?"

"Come here." Dean opened the door wider so Sam could shoulder in next to her. The lower shelves held casseroles in containers Dean had never seen before, and fruit, all slightly browning, filled the crispers.

"Well, or maybe not." Sam pulled out two of the dishes and tilted them to one side. "You want tuna or chicken?"

"Don't care," Dean said, "but dibs not heating it up."

.

Sam said he'd picked chicken, but it tasted more like fish. Dean raised her eyebrows at the first bite and Bobby laughed.

"Now you see why I haven't eaten any of it," he said.

She rolled her eyes and swallowed. "It's not that bad."

"Wait till you try the actual tuna, then," he said. Dean wrinkled her nose and started on the cheese-toast she'd bullied Sam into making.

They spread out in one of the other rooms later, around a low table Dean hadn't seen before. In someone else's house, she'd call it a coffee table, but that didn't feel right for Bobby. It was covered in protective carvings against a variety of curses Dean recognized and others she didn't. Bobby spread their work across the surface and handed everyone a book.

"Get to it," he said, and they were off.

She and Sam started reading on opposite ends of the couch, with a pile of papers between them, but Dean kept scooting closer to her brother as they worked. By the time she started reading one line over and over, and then dozing off, Dean was right at Sam's shoulder. She leaned her temple against him and held her book open in her lap, but before she moved past her current page, she was asleep.

Sam shook her awake later. The book was gone from her lap, her neck was sore from being at weird angles for so long that day, and she could hear Bobby in one of the other rooms.

"We're sleeping upstairs," Sam said, and pulled her to her feet. "Bobby's got the room we usually use set up as his bedroom now."

She nodded. She was still more asleep than awake and she followed Sam from room to room as he got a glass of water and put his laptop away. Most of the bedrooms wound up as libraries or armories, but the room at the end of the hall upstairs held more beds than Dean always thought should be able to fit: two sets of bunk beds and a queen, stuck under the window. Dean shed layers as she went, trusting Sam to step around them, and face-planted as gingerly as she could in the big bed, without even taking off her shirt.

She was almost asleep again when he poked her leg and said, "Get under the sheets."

Dean sighed and made him do most of the work. She stretched out on her belly — and fine, sleeping on her stomach without boobs in the way was awesome in a way she'd never even known she was missing — but she only stayed there for a few moments before Sam followed her under. He pushed at her shoulder until she grumbled and rolled onto her back to see what he wanted, and then he kissed her, right away.

Dean hummed into his mouth. He was warm where the sheets still felt cool and she pressed her side up against him, chasing that heat. Sam was hard against her thigh and Dean smirked. It was hardly Sam's heterosexuality's fault that she was so awesome.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, but Dean hissed and tugged back. He must have remembered then, because he ran one hand lightly down her side, over the ridges of the bandages beneath her shirt.

"Sorry," he said, and kissed her again. "I forgot."

"Lucky you."

"You okay?"

She considered. "Just don't put too much weight on me or anything."

He sighed and tucked himself closer. Dean raised her head so he could slide his arm under her neck. Sam smiled at her in the dim light from the window and kissed her forehead. She could still feel him pressing against her leg, hot even through their boxers, but apparently he was letting that wait.

"I'll be glad when you're better," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "We all miss my boobs, dude, I get it."

"No, not — well, not only that."

"_Only_ that?"

He hooked one thigh over hers and started thrusting. Dean reached down to pull his leg higher, so she could get some friction, too.

"Don't get slammed into any more walls," he said. "This is fun and all, but I don't like you hurt." Dean hadn't paid attention to his free hand and now it reappeared low on her belly, with his thumb near her navel and his fingers edging under her boxers.

"Job hazard," she said. She kept herself from shoving his hand lower, because that wasn't what you did when someone was freaked out, but she wanted to. "And you never complained about it before."

He touched the head of her dick with just one finger, maybe his pinky, and Dean hissed through her teeth. It wasn't nearly enough, but between her still-sore ribs, and Sam's other hand wrapped around her shoulder, she couldn't do much about it without yanking his hand out of the way in favor of her own.

She got a fistful of his shirt, at least, and tugged. "Sam," she said, whining.

"Shh." He stroked the finger over her slit, again and again, and stayed close to her. When she looked at his face, he was watching her right back.

"Sam, come on." She bucked her hips as much as she could, staring at him, and Sam finally shoved his hand down her underwear, wrapped his hand around her, and started stroking. She kept trying to roll her hips, and when Sam moved his leg out of the way, it only took a few good thrusts into his hand before she came all over the place, splattering her clothes and the sheet and definitely Sam's arm.

Sam laughed against her cheek as he wiped his hand on her boxers and then shoved them down her thighs. He kept snickering to himself as he wiped her belly off and then stripped himself. When she caught her breath, she elbowed him. "Share with the class, dude."

Sam shook his head. "Just thinking about how much crap you'd give me if I ever came that quickly."

"What?" Dean narrowed her eyes. "I would not. Besides, no way was that like, embarrassingly fast."

"It took you like three minutes," Sam said, and flexed his bicep under her head. "My arm hasn't gone numb or anything."

She rolled her eyes and reached between them for Sam's dick. He closed his eyes and pushed into her grip but didn't otherwise move.

"So I'm not used to holding off," she said, trailing her fingers as lightly over him as he had to her. "I'm usually trying to come at all, not trying to wait."

He shuddered and looked at her again. "Hey, I get you there."

She kissed him and started stroking in earnest, awkward as it was to do flat on her back, because he was right. He did get her there, all the time. "It was the guys before you who didn't always."

Sam shook his head and drew breath, like he seriously wanted to keep the conversation going, so she kissed him again. She would have slithered down to blow him any other time, but not tonight.

"Here," she said instead, letting him go and patting her thighs. "Come up here."

He grumbled about stopping but swung his leg all the way over to straddle her, with his weight on her hips and his knees almost in her armpits. His dick was nicely eye-level now, flushed and hard like she always made him, and Dean wrapped her hand around it. He groaned and started rolling his hips towards her.

Dean stroked until Sam had his eyes closed and his mouth open, and then she cupped his balls in her free hand and squeezed. Sam opened his mouth with a gasp and came a few moments later. She tilted her head to the side so she wouldn't get splashed in the face but kept pumping him until he laughed and climbed off. Dean wiped the come off her chest and neck and swiped it onto his shirt, and he didn't complain.

He rolled onto his side once he stopped panting and kissed her with one hand in her hair. Dean sighed. She felt just as relaxed and sated as his kisses seemed, with all of the urgency gone. When Sam put his hand on her belly and trailed it towards her dick again though, she realized where this was going and groaned.

Where she would have been wet and more than willing for round two a few weeks ago, her stupid new dick was still soft, and too sensitive for Sam to even touch. She shoved his hand away and stopped kissing him.

"God fucking ass dammit," she said, and untangled herself to cross her arms. "This body won't do multiple orgasms, will it."

Sam, who'd pushed up onto one elbow, dropped his forehead to Dean's shoulder as he cracked up.

"Shut up." She elbowed him in the side. "It's not funny."

"It sort of is."

"It might be my willpower Lucifer's going after, after all."

"Uh huh."

She swatted at Sam's head, but he ducked, so she only caught his ear before he leaned in and kissed her.

"Guys outgrow getting to come like that," he said. "You'll live."

She bit his lip. "Can't see why I'd want to, if I'm stuck with getting off once a night."

Sam bit back, then licked her lip and settled next to her. "Think of it as once at night, and then once again in the morning."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever it takes to let you sleep at night, little brother."

.

They stayed with Bobby for a week, sorting through Jo and Ellen's effects, and digging through the books, and letting Dean's bruising disappear. Every day, Dean brushed up on skills she'd had for most of her life. Sometimes she asked Sam to come along, but whenever she could, she worked alone. Bobby stayed out of their way, but sometimes Dean could see him doing the same thing as her — stopping, thinking his actions through, and then starting again, going slower but much more efficiently.

"We should go," Dean said one afternoon, as they stood in the kitchen listening to Bobby carry the trash outside. "I'm starting to feel weird, being here now."

"What do you mean?"

"All this, oh, Dean's body's fucked up so let's figure out how to fix it?" She glanced around the rearranged room, with everything reachable from a seated position, and shrugged. "Wasn't too long ago he was hitting up that poker game. I don't want to rub his nose in it."

Sam cocked his head, then looked away and shrugged. "We could stand to get on the road again anyway."

"Yeah."

Bobby nodded when she told him they were headed out. "Take some of this food with you," he said. "It's gonna rot before I can get through it all."

"There's more?" Dean asked. "I thought we finished what was in the fridge."

"Yeah, but not what was in the freezer." Bobby nodded to the door, and when Dean opened it, she laughed to see several more containers. "And she'll just bring more when she comes back for the plates."

"Why Bobby Singer, I do believe there's a neighbor lady with a crush on you," Dean said.

He blushed and rolled towards Dean. She stepped out of his way and he handed her a few frozen containers. She couldn't tell what was in them but figured it didn't matter much.

She took her hair out of its usual messy bun once they got on the road and swept it into a low ponytail instead. She hadn't bothered to change all her mannerisms at Bobby's, but she'd need to again.

"You should get a haircut," she told Sam, eyeing him across the seat. He snorted and didn't look away from the road.

"And why would that be?"

"We can't both have long hair," she said. "It'll make us too memorable."

"Mine's not that long."

"It is when we're talking about mine, too. Yours by itself is just guy-with-stupid-hair, but you and me together are pair-of-guys-with-stupid-hair. People'll pay attention."

"So cut yours."

"No!" She swatted his arm. "I need mine."

He rolled his eyes. "Even if we both cut it, people are still gonna remember us. If we're not the guys with the hair then we're still gonna be the guys with the car, or the guys with the weird questions." She frowned. "And I'm guessing you don't wanna get rid of any of that."

"You could stand a haircut anyway." She leaned across the seat and tugged the curls brushing Sam's collar. He grinned at her.

"Don't act like you don't like it."

Dean yanked again to make her point, then combed her fingers through his hair once or twice before taking her hand back.

They drove east until the sun set behind them, then stopped at a diner. The food in the trunk had survived this long in Bobby's freezer, and it could thaw a little longer before they ate it.

_Kids Eat Free On Thursdays_, said the banner outside, so the place was packed with local families. Sam and Dean took seats at the counter instead of waiting for a table, but they still wound up sitting next to a woman with two kids.

"Hi," said the oldest, a girl with French-braided pigtails. She looked maybe eight, and her mother glanced over after she spoke.

"Hi," Dean said back. She smiled at the mom and kept her hands on the counter instead of asking what the girl's name was.

The woman smiled back and nudged the girl. "You still have your corn to finish," she said. The girl sighed but picked up her fork again.

Dean glanced at them out of the corner of her eye while she went over the menu. The other kid, a boy, sat on the far side of his mom and picked at his food. She kept stabbing bites with her own fork to feed him.

"What're you getting?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "Don't know, just nothing with chicken or fish."

"Tell me about it." He hummed and flipped over his menu. "What do you think, though, sandwich or pot roast?"

"What kind of sandwich?"

"Italian sub, double veggies."

Dean glanced at the sandwich section on her own menu. "Sub."

"What about you?"

"Maybe the ham plate," Dean said, then shrugged. "Not sure."

"That's what I had," the little girl said.

"Yeah?" Dean smiled at her. "Is it good?"

"Not the corn. But the ham is okay."

Dean nodded and put down her menu. "I'll get something other than corn, then."

"Good."

"Charlotte," said her mom. "Don't bother people while they're eating."

"But he's not eating, Mom," Charlotte said.

"She's fine," Dean offered.

The woman smiled but shook her head. "No, she knows better." When Charlotte tried to protest again, her mother reached over and spun her stool so she faced her plate again. She kept her arm around her daughter's back, and Dean smiled one more time before turning her own stool to angle herself closer to Sam. She ordered meatloaf and mashed potatoes when the waitress came by, and she didn't look directly at the girl again.

The woman kept her arm around Charlotte anyway, until they finished and she could herd her kids towards the door. Dean caught a glimpse of her rounded stomach when she stood and pressed her hand into the small of her back. A third kid, then, to protect from sketchy strangers in restaurants.

Dean didn't think about the patches in her make-up bag very often these days. The last kid she'd raised had wound up freeing the devil and fucking his sister, and there was no reason for Dean to think she'd do a better job if she had a second chance. It was probably for the best that she couldn't be getting accidentally, or accidentally-on-purpose, knocked-up. She didn't eat much of her dinner all the same.

.

They went for a few more hours before finding a room. Sam went inside and paid while Dean stayed in the car and studied her hands in her lap. Her wrists didn't taper in the way they used to, and her fingers were broader and thicker. She hadn't gotten taller, but her entire body had shifted around, and she didn't know how that worked.

She'd packed for both of them at Bobby's house, throwing clothes into bags without bothering to separate them, and she dumped everything out on the bed closest to the door once they got inside. She'd seen some of Sam's stuff for years and years, so it was easy to pick them out and toss to him, but her own things were trickier. Her first impulse was still to hand her new stuff, the men's clothes, to Sam. She had to keep reminding herself that it was _hers_ now. They hadn't made any real progress on that ritual, so she was stuck in it for at least another three weeks.

Her old clothes were worse, in a way. There wasn't much point in developing attachments to things, since she never knew when they'd have to leave town at a moment's notice with nothing more than the clothes on their back and the contents of the trunk, but she had favorite outfits anyway. A pair of jeans that fit perfectly, a top that made her rack look awesome, a blazer cut with enough room in the shoulders to give her a full range of motion. She didn't want to just get rid of it now, and she wound up stacking her two different wardrobes side by side in her duffel. It wasn't a useful way of storing stuff, and she could tell, even while loading up the bag, that she'd need to repack it soon, but she liked it this way, at least being able to still see it.

Sam puttered around the bathroom after he shoved his own stuff away, and when Dean zipped up her bag, she found him lying on their bed with his ankles crossed and his hands on his belly. His face was turned towards her but his eyes were shut, and she remembered he'd driven most of the day. Dean tried to keep quiet as she got ready for bed, but she heard the TV click on while she was brushing her teeth.

He was sitting up against the headboard, with his shirt off and the covers pulled to his waist, when she came out of the bathroom. The TV's volume was turned low, and the colors flickered across the room. He watched Dean as she tossed her jeans towards her bag, and as she sat on the edge of the bed, to shake her hair out of its ponytail and brush it smooth. She could feel his eyes on her back.

She heard Sam exhale when she got under the covers, something between a sigh and a laugh, and then he scooted down, so their faces were level, and rolled onto his side. She looked at him a moment later and saw a smile playing around his lips before he leaned to kiss her.

Dean pulled away before things got heated, before they touched each other. Sam moved back in, not pushing her so much as just trying again, and she tilted her head to the side to lean their foreheads together. She felt his sigh on her cheek. She closed her eyes as she shifted onto her side as well, matching his position, and slotted one of her knees just between his.

"I'm starting to think there's no fixing this," she said. Sam tensed, and she shook her head. "No, lemme finish — it's been long enough that we should at least have some idea of where to look, right? I mean, working with Bobby, we should have something to go on by now."

Sam shook his head and Dean shrugged. She kissed his cheek, which was the part of his face closest to her mouth, and then rolled onto her back again. "I'm not cool with being stuck this way for the rest of my life, but." She laughed, and it sounded ugly and insincere even to her. "This is the _devil_ we're going up against, you know? And he's got worse plans building than just fucking with the two of us."

Sam rolled onto his back as well. Dean didn't reach out to touch him, but he slid one foot towards her, so their shins brushed. "So, what, you want us to just let it go?"

"I want us to get back to the big picture," she said, and closed her eyes. That wasn't true at all — part of her wanted all their energy focused on getting her back the way she was supposed to be, to getting her tits and her cunt and her smooth face back. But she couldn't admit that bit of selfishness to anyone, even Sam, so she'd tucked it away instead.

He sighed again, and then the overstuffed pillow crinkled as he turned to look at her. Dean gave it a few seconds before she returned his gaze.

"This is bigger than you and me," she said. "Come on. You know that."

"There are other ways we could get around it," Sam said, and pressed his face against hers, shoving his nose into her cheek. Dean hummed at him in answer. "I mean, this is usually not something people have to deal with because the devil did it to them. There's —" He leaned back and waved a hand at her. "Surgery, and stuff."

Dean closed her eyes and sighed. He was trying. "Last thing we have time for right now is for me to be recovering from surgery for however long that'd take. Even assuming we could scare up the money."

"I know," he said. "Not right now. Just, in general. For when this is all over."

Yeah," she said. She didn't think they'd ever get to that point, really; she didn't think they'd both make it out of this, and even if she was wrong about that, she didn't think the world would be in a place to still be offering advanced medical procedures. "Look, it's not like waiting this out is my favorite plan ever or anything."

He snorted. "I'd hope not."

"But we can't keep making this personal."

"Uh huh."

"I mean, you remember what happened the last time I tried to take things up personally with —"

He pushed himself onto one elbow and kissed her quiet. Dean closed her eyes and slid one hand into his hair, keeping him right there.

"It's gonna be alright," he said. Dean laughed into his mouth but didn't contradict him.

.

Dean grabbed an armful of local and regional papers when they stopped for dinner the next day. She found — a lot of stuff, actually, that she knew they couldn't handle right now. She had enough faith in her aim to get back on the road in the first place, but she hadn't relearned nearly enough hand-to-hand during their week at Bobby's, and she hadn't full-out sprinted since the change, either. What running did done had been nice, without the boobs, but she'd felt clumsy and out of balance, as well.

She made notes of a few bigger leads to email to Bobby and slid the obituaries from her paper to Sam. "Check this one out," she said, and tapped the picture.

Sam read the first few lines, laughed, and pushed his own obits to her. She saw that he'd circled only one, the same death she'd showed him. "It's what, a few hours from here?"

She nodded. "We can make it there tonight easy, get a room, start in the morning."

The waitress brought the food when they still had papers spread across the table, and they had to stack everything up before she could start laying plates down. Dean thought again about Bobby's leftovers, riding along with the other weapons in the trunk of the car, and wondered if they'd be eating them the next day, or throwing them out.

They stopped at a motel across from a liquor store, and after they settled in, Sam nodded towards the door and left. He came back with a twelve-pack and a handle of no-name whiskey. Dean laughed at him for a moment, drinking the night before a job, before grabbing the plastic cups from the sink and pouring them each a few fingers.

"Dean," he said an hour later, with four empties in the trash and his third refill of whiskey in the cup. Dean pushed her own cup around the table and raised her eyebrows. He blinked and then repeated himself: "Dean."

"Sam," she shot back, hoping it would kick him into finishing his thought.

"It's not weird, like I thought," he said. "It's not bad at all."

She smiled at him a little, at the lines on his forehead as if this confused him, and then she swallowed down her drink. "Coulda told you that," she said. "Think I tried to, actually."

He smiled back and then looked down at the table. "Sorry."

"Not your fault." Dean shrugged. "So, you'd really never, with a guy, before?"

He shook his head. "Made out with a guy at a party a few times, at school. Different guys, I mean, not the same one a few times. It was just, very not good, every time." He looked at her and shrugged, trying to grin and failing. "I figured I didn't like guys after all and left it at that."

She nodded. "But you'd thought about it before?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. Dean fought the urge to rest her elbows on the table and lean towards him. "But it was always better than what actually happened, so I figured it was nothing. Or just appreciation, like how you can look at someone and see how other people would like them but you don't? Like that."

"Yeah." Dean reached over and poured herself another shot, but didn't take it. "Okay, I have a theory."

He snorted and leaned back in his chair. "Shoot."

"You usually want to be, I dunno, interested in someone before you start fucking, right?" Dean thought through the few times she'd seen him hook up, and that was the thing: they hadn't been _hook ups_. Until Ruby, she'd only seen him sleep with girls he cared about, and considering how fucked he'd been after the truth came out, maybe he'd cared about Ruby, too. It wasn't as though Dean had been there to take care of him when Ruby got her claws in him. She'd never asked for all the details there, and she didn't much want to know them.

"Yeah." He shrugged and sipped his whiskey.

"But these guys, did you care about them? Or were you just fooling around because you were trying to prove a point?"

"I wasn't trying to prove a point," he said. "I was friggin curious, I was trying to figure things out —"

"To prove it to yourself," Dean said. He rolled his eyes magnificently and she grinned. "Just sayin, maybe it wasn't that they were guys. Maybe it's just how you can't get it up unless someone's wearing a promise ring."

"Whatever." He shot the rest of the glass and reached for the bottle again, then frowned and dropped his hand. "What're we startin with tomorrow, anyway?"

"Should run a few miles," she said, and kept smiling when he groaned. "And then we should reorganize the trunk, all the stuff at the bottom is in a big mess, and then we need to change the oil, and then we can head over to the library, get started."

He dug in his pockets and found a crumpled receipt to toss at her. It missed by a long way and she laughed. "C'mon, let's get some sleep."

.

There wasn't a restaurant anywhere close to the motel, which said something about the motel, so they drove for awhile the next morning to find one. Sam seemed annoyed about it, but Dean figured it was just another way for them to learn their way around town.

It looked to be an easy job. Dean's money was on a spirit, or maybe a poltergeist, and if the two of them didn't need the practice, she'd say this was a waste of their time. It needed to get done, sure, but the two of them had bigger worries, and anyone could handle this.

That was the point, though. Hopefully they could handle it, too.

Reading between the lines of the obituary, their victim had died alone at night, in his own bed while his wife was out of town, and after they lied their way in to see the body, they learned that he'd died from blood loss.

The medical examiner snapped a fresh pair of nitrile gloves on before uncovering the body for them. "Whoever did this went for the joints." She rotated one arm to show Sam and Dean the deep, clean slash at the elbow.

"They're all like that?" Dean asked.

She nodded. "I can turn him over if you want to look at his knees, but yeah, all of them. Hips, shoulders, knees." She tucked the first arm back into place against the body, and then showed them the other.

"No, that's okay." Dean leaned over to look at the notes Sam was taking on a small pad of paper — _single cuts, deep - bled out from there?_ — and then ducked to study the victim's other arm. The ME was right: the cuts were almost identical. Dean frowned when she saw the victim's hands, uninjured. "No defensive wounds?"

"That's the weird part," the examiner said. She moved to support the wrist and manipulated it so Dean could see both sides of the hand. "No defensive wounds anywhere, but this wouldn't have been a fast enough death for him not to have a chance to fight back. But there also aren't any ligature marks, and I couldn't find any traces of a sedative." She replaced the second arm and then crossed her own arms over her chest. "Whoever did this moved the victim around — he was on his stomach when his knees were cut, but he was found on his back. But there's no sign of a struggle on his body, and from what I've heard, not at the scene either."

"We're on our way to the scene next," Sam said, and gave her a matching frown. "Is there anything else out of the ordinary?"

She shook her head. "I'll have my office give you a call if we do find something else."

"Thanks," Dean said. They all stripped off their gloves and shook clammy hands before Sam and Dean headed out to their car, and the doctor to the rest of her work.

"Spirit," Dean said, once she got behind the wheel and both the doors were slammed closed. Next to her, Sam nodded. "You think we should even stop by the house yet, or go research this some?"

Sam snorted. "I can't believe you're even giving that as a choice."

She shrugged and headed out of the parking lot. "What're we gonna get from the scene that we don't already have? We can at least figure out suspicious deaths in the area that match up with this whole slicing thing before we go in and bother his wife."

"This isn't what you should be doing in the first place," Castiel said. He was in the back seat all of a sudden, and Dean didn't sideswipe the car next to them only because she was used to it. Sam rolled his eyes as he pulled his hand out of his jacket, where he'd gone for his gun.

"The hell?" Dean asked, frowning into the rearview mirror. Castiel eyed her back and she rolled her eyes before looking back to the road. "I thought you couldn't find us at the drop of a hat anymore."

"I traced your cell phone, and then waited on the sidewalk for you to drive past," he said, and Dean hissed through her teeth. If it wasn't for the occasional need to stalk down Sam, she would have disabled the GPS on their phones a long time ago.

"You've gotta warn me in the car, dude," she said. "I could have driven into something."

"No, you wouldn't have." He was still watching her in the mirror, and Dean grinned at him.

"I am good," she said. "You need something, or are you just along for the ride today?"

"I came to tell you that you should get back to work," he said. Dean steadied her grip on the wheel and didn't look at him this time, but she could see Sam turn to raise his eyebrows at Cas.

"What do you think we're doing here?" Dean gestured to her suit, and Sam's. "Working."

"This isn't what you need to be doing, Dean, and you know it. I know the path isn't clear right now, but there are other things you could be doing, besides this."

"You think we don't know that?" Dean said. She joined the line of cars stopped at a red light and then swung into a parking lot instead, before turning around to face Castiel. "Hell, Cas, I know this is a useless, small fry job, and anyone in the world could take care of it, but I have no idea what I'm doing in this, this —" She broke off and smacked herself once in the chest before continuing. "This _body_, and if there's no way to put me right, I've gotta get used to it so I don't get my head blown off taking on something bigger."

He cocked his head and frowned slightly. "It's been several weeks. I thought you might have adjusted to the change by now."

She raised her eyebrows and then turned completely away, to look out the windshield. She could see Sam tensed next to her, but she didn't give him much more attention than that. "This isn't something I'm just going to adjust to. I can work around it, but it's never going to be something that's okay."

He hummed. "I'll keep working on it, then."

Dean closed her eyes for a moment, all she'd give herself, and when she opened them again, Sam had turned in the seat to face her full-on, and Castiel was gone.

"Fuck, that was — what was that?" she said. The suit, cheap and ill-fitting, seemed itchy and constricting all of a sudden. She scratched at her chest just long enough for it to feel better, and then stopped touching herself. "I swear to god, most of the time he is awesome but sometimes he just confuses me."

Sam snorted. Slowly, letting her see the movement, he stretched his arm across the back of the seat and touched the nape of her neck. Dean took a deep breath instead of yanking away. After a moment, when she didn't move into the touch, he stroked over her skin with his thumb and then pulled away. Dean didn't smile at him, precisely, but she smiled, and figured that would have to be enough.

"Alright, let's get this started," she said, and backed out of the parking space. They were quiet as they headed to the library, and stayed that way as they went inside and got to work.

.

When Dean got out of the shower that night, Sam had been waiting for her outside the door, rolling their bottle of lube between his hands. He held it out to her with his eyebrows raised, and she just stared at him for a moment, still wrapped up in a towel. After a moment, he lost all his cockiness and looked away. "It makes it different," he said. "Better, sort of. I want to show you."

So she'd pressed herself against him as she kissed him, dropped her towel to get on the bed, and now she found herself sweating and desperate, spread over the sheets, as Sam lay between her legs. He was grinning at her, the jerk, as he stroked her dick so slowly she didn't know what to do with herself. The bottle of lube rested against his shoulder, with the cap open, and he'd stopped to slick up often enough that his hand moved effortlessly on her cock.

"Good?" he asked.

Dean groaned and kicked him in the side. "What do you think?"

He kissed her hipbone. When Dean pushed up onto her elbows to look at him, he only smiled at her, soft and fond and stupid. She put her hand on his wrist, feeling his tendons shift as he stroked so horribly slow, and let her head thump back to the pillow. He chuckled and she kicked him again, but then looked up when he tugged his hand away.

"Hey!" She tried to pull him back, but he pulled out of her grip and reached for the lube.

"Just a sec," he said. Dean breathed while she listened to him slick his fingers up again, both hands this time, and then he laughed as he fiddled with the bottle.

"Close this for me," he said eventually and handed it to her. The bottle's sides were as slick as his fingers, but she snapped the lid closed before dropping it next to her.

Sam nudged one thigh and waited for her to spread her legs further, then stroked his fingers over her balls. Dean shuddered and raised her head to look him in the eyes again.

"Good?" he asked again, this time squeezing.

She hissed through her teeth and then nodded. It almost wasn't good — she was so sensitive that the touch was almost too much — but Sam never took it past the point of being pleasurable.

"Yeah, it is," he said, answering for her. He kept his gaze on her face as he started stroking her cock with his other hand, faster this time. Dean kept watching him for as long as she could manage, only a few moments, really, before she dropped her head again and closed her eyes.

Sam went on like that until the stimulation changed from something awesome to something urgent. She started thrusting harder into his strokes, started grinding backwards into the palm still cupping and tugging at her balls, and Sam kissed her again, this time high on her inner thigh.

"You're close," he said, not asking at all, and Dean laughed.

"Yeah."

"Good." He squirmed his hand around her balls, making her gasp, and wormed one finger down to rub over the patch of skin right before her hole.

Dean bit her lip as everything jumped up, became so much more intense, just from that single bit of pressure. She bucked her hips up three, four more times before it was too much. Her balls tightened up in Sam's hand, and her entire body clenched as she spurted over his hands. He looked at her face with his lips parted as he slowed his hand just slightly, drawing it out. She took huge, gasping breaths once her body started to calm and Sam finally stopped. He let go of her cock before she could tell him to, but kept his hand cupped around her balls.

His finger, warm and slicked, stayed nudged up between her cheeks, so close to her hole. Lube dribbled down, and Dean shivered as he rubbed back and forth.

"Dean," he said.

She met his gaze, then shut her eyes and flailed around for his free hand. She still had come on her belly. "Yeah," she said. "Okay."

They'd done this before: not every time they fucked but often enough that Dean had practice in relaxing for his fingers. She thought it would be the same this time, and it wasn't anything special when Sam rubbed over her hole. But the first slick slide of his finger inside her was enough to send her back up onto her elbows, staring down at him. He thrust in slowly but didn't stop until he had his entire finger in her ass, so that the rest of his hand was nestled up against her body. Dean clenched as hard as she could and shivered at the resistance from inside her body. She'd missed this. She bit her lip and dropped her head back to the pillow as he drew his finger out and added another when he put it back into her.

She rolled onto her side when Sam sat back and lubed himself up, so he snugged up against her back and nuzzled the nape of her neck as he slid inside. She bit her lips and tried to breathe through it. He breathed raggedly against her neck when he was all the way inside her, their hips tight together, and Dean put a hand low on her belly, pressing against herself like she could feel him. She'd never thought she was so hung up on penetration until she'd lost the chance to take Sam as easily as her cunt used to let her, but now, Dean was so grateful for having him in her body again.

"God," she said, and fumbled her hand onto his, where he'd clamped down on her hip.

"I know," he said, pulling out slowly, just an inch or two, and then sinking all the way again.

Dean shuddered. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine things were back to usual. Sam behind her, with his hand huge on her hip, fucking her slowly after she'd already come her brains out — she'd done this before.

"Dean," he said, nosing her hair aside to kiss her neck. "Dean, fuck, I missed being inside you so bad."

She shuddered and shifted onto her belly. Sam moved with her, covering her back, and she squeezed her eyes closed as she pressed her face into the mattress. Sam rose up a little, got his knees under himself, to start thrusting harder into her ass, faster, and Dean tilted her hips up for him. He moaned as he wrapped his hands around her waist and tugged, angling her the way he wanted. His cock scraped over — something, fuck, she didn't even know what he'd touched inside of her, but it made her jerk when he hit it again, and arch her back so he could aim better. Dean would have laughed, if she'd had the extra energy, when she felt her own dick twitch a few moments later.

"There," she said, and turned her face to the side to suck in more air. "Right there, keep going, just, just like that."

Sam tightened his grip and did, thrusting at exactly the same angle. "That good?"

"Yeah, it's." She shuddered and rested her forehead on her wrist while she wormed her other arm under herself. She squeezed her dick as it kept jerking and filling. "You can't stop, Sammy, you can't."

"Not gonna," he said, and leaned over her to sloppily kiss the back of her neck, and her shoulder. Dean turned her face towards him and he kissed her mouth after a moment instead. Their chins scraped together, scratchy with stubble, and Sam kept fucking her without moving away.

She didn't know how to describe it. It reminded her of good sex back in her own body, but it was different, too, with her dick swinging between her thighs and her hand working so much harder than she ever needed to with her clit. She kept her back arched into Sam's thrusts, so he kept hitting that same spot, and she started to tighten up, about to come again.

She cried out when her orgasm did hit. Behind her, Sam clenched his hands even further on her hips and fucked her through it, hitting whatever-it-was the same way he used to hit her g-spot while she came, and he held her up when she started to slump.

Dean wiped her fingers on the sheet and then folded both her arms under her head as she tried to catch her breath. Sam let up on her for a while, just rocking their hips together until she stopped shaking, but then he tilted her hips up again and started really fucking her. He slammed her backwards, making Dean wince and bite her lip, when he came. She could feel his hands shaking on her, though, and she clenched down on his dick as hard as she could. Sam groaned and shoved further into her body. She could feel his cock pulsing out the last of his orgasm, and she relaxed as he slumped onto her back. He panted against the side of her face for a while. When Dean turned further towards him, he lipped over her cheek and then kissed her again.

Dean could feel his every breath, pushing his chest further into her back. Her legs were still splayed around his, and his cock was softening inside her. Pulling out would just be more unpleasant the longer they waited, but she tightened a little around him and felt his breath hitch again, and so she didn't say anything about it. Sam ran one hand up and down her side, over her ribs, and kept kissing her long past when her neck started to protest.

"We should get up," he said eventually, mumbling against her mouth and then pulling back slightly to rest his cheek on her shoulder. Dean hummed in response but neither of them moved further for a long time. Finally, when Sam shifted his legs and Dean's own thighs tingled as blood started to fill them again, she groaned and elbowed him.

"Yeah, I know," he said, and kissed the back of her neck before pushing himself up and holding his weight on one hand, next to her head. Dean took one last moment to catalogue the feel of him, taking up all the room inside her body, before he slid his free hand between them and rubbed over one cheek while he pulled out. The head was always the worst part, huge against her sore hole, and she made herself keep her mouth open as she breathed through it.

Sam rubbed the small of her back one more time before climbing off the bed. Dean curled onto her side, away from the wet spot, while she waited for him to come back. The other bed was appealingly clean across the room, but its sheets would be cold, and she stayed in the warmth they'd made together.

He turned off the room's lights as he came to bed, bringing her a wet washcloth. Dean wiped the mess from her own orgasms off her belly first, wincing at the familiar pull of drying come, and then cleaned between her cheeks as well. Sam watched her face throughout. Part of Dean wanted to squirm away, but the urge was weak enough that she ignored it.

She left the towel on the bed when she finished and pushed herself up to a seated position, wincing. Sam wrapped his hands around her upper arms and tugged her to her feet, to lean against him. She was wobbly as they made their way to the other bed. Sam brought the pillows with him and then joined her, wrapping himself around her body. With the lights off, Dean covered his hand with her own, once he slid it around her waist. His fingers still felt too small under hers, but she twined them together without thinking too much about it.

"I missed that," he said, into her hair. Dean closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her ass hurt just from lying there, and she knew it wouldn't be fun tomorrow, either, but she agreed.

"Yeah," she said, and squeezed his fingers.

.

Dean thought of herself as biflexible more than anything else, because it was usually men that did it for her, but she could appreciate a good rack, and she wasn't going to turn down a night with someone who knew her way around a woman's body from first-hand experience. She'd had sex dreams about other people, not-Sam people, with pretty decent regularity since the two of them agreed to stop fucking around, and anyway, it just wasn't a big deal for a dream about strippers to suddenly turn into a dream about Anna.

"Hello, Dean," she said, looking down at her from the platform. She pursed her lips together and frowned. "I don't have much time, but I can see Castiel wasn't exaggerating."

Dean snorted and glanced down at herself, leaning back in the chair with her legs crossed. "Who would make up something like this?"

Anna shrugged and sat down in front of her. "I can help him fix it, if you want. He said he wasn't strong enough alone, but both of us should be able to manage it."

"Seriously?" Dean swallowed hard when Anna nodded. "This is a communication thing, right, and not just a normal dream?"

"I would have come to you in person, but I can't find you." She laid one hand on Dean's chest, just over her tattoo.

"Yeah," Dean said, and frowned down at Anna's hand. "Sorry."

She looked down as well and then pulled her hand back. "I'm outside Boston. Come and see me, as soon as you can."

Dean calculated distances and driving times in her head and frowned. "You can't come to us? We're in the middle of a job right now, and we're halfway across the country, anyway."

"I need to stay put," she said, and looked to one side. "I broke out, of Heaven. There are other angels after me."

"Okay, but." Dean frowned and chewed on the inside of her cheek. "You can wait for us, right? I'll come, but you've gotta give me the time."

"I'll try." Anna shrugged. "Bring Castiel with you, and your brother. Your brother needs to come, too."

Dean was about to ask why when Anna reached out and tapped her forehead. Dean was awake then, with her dick swollen in her boxers and Sam snoring beside her. She sat up, flicked on the bedside lamp to write down the address Anna had zapped straight into her head, and then tugged at Sam's shoulder, waking him up.

.

She made coffee while she rehashed her dream for him.

"Anna," he said, slowly, when she finished. "This is the first time we've heard from her in a while." She raised her eyebrows and didn't smirk at him right away, even though she wanted to.

"Yeah."

He shrugged. "I mean, it is, right? You haven't heard from her or anything."

Dean watched him try to keep his face calm for a moment, then laughed. "Seriously?"

"I'm just mentioning it."

"Yes, you big tool, this is the first time I've heard from her since then." She did smirk at him now, and he scowled as he got up to brush his teeth. Dean watched him through the door, which he'd left open again, and grinned at him.

"You think it's worth a shot?" he called, after rinsing his mouth.

"Best shot we've had so far." She cupped both palms around her mug and stared down into it.

He shrugged again. "Still a little weird, that she just calls you up out of nowhere and 'has to see you.'" He didn't actually make them, but Dean could picture the air-quotes perfectly.

"You make it sound like a booty-call." She stood up and followed him to the bathroom, sighing when she saw just how much tension he was holding in his shoulders right now.

"You mean that she showed up in a dream, for the first time I've heard from her, or really thought about her, in months." She studied him for a moment, and when he looked over, relaxing a little already, she sighed. She'd forced herself through one relationship talk before this to get them towards their version of exclusive, but apparently that bandaid needed to be ripped off again. "C'mon, Sam, it's mostly guys for me," she said, and hoped Sam would pick up that she meant it was mostly _him_ for her. "I'm not looking to get back with Anna or anything — hell, we were never really together in the first place, you know?"

He nodded but didn't let it go. "But you have been with her before." He shrugged again. "You know. She's not just some random chick you ran into, offering to fix this for you. You've got history with her."

Dean laughed a little. "What the hell is it I have with you, then?" She joined Sam at the sink, bumping their hips together, and reached for her own toothbrush. "Scoot, I want to get a shower before we call Cas."

He showed up outside their room when they were halfway through plates of Bobby's casserole. "Anna," he repeated, frowning, once she filled him in. "You're sure it wasn't only a dream?"

"We Googled the address," Sam said. "It's an abandoned factory."

Castiel shook his head, though. "Anna should still be in Heaven. There's no way she escaped the way she said she did — either she's lying, or she can't tell what's true and what isn't, any more."

Dean sighed and rubbed at the side of her neck. "So, what? We don't trust her?"

"I don't know," Castiel said. "I didn't talk to her about you, but she told you otherwise. She might be coming to us with good intentions, but there's no way to tell without one of us going to meet her."

"What counts as good intentions here?" Sam asked. "Because I bet Heaven wants Dean back in her body, too, if she can't be a vessel like this."

"Hell, if that's it, I say we go," Dean said. "If she wants me to say yes before she'll change me, then we walk, but if she'll do it first, then it works out."

"It's not going to be that easy," Sam said.

"When is it ever?" Dean snorted. "Look, we should at least know what she's up to, because right now we don't have any idea." Sam kept frowning and Cas turned to study the window. Dean gritted her teeth and made herself take a deep breath before going on. "I'm going," she said. "I want this fixed, and I'm willing to take a big stupid risk to try to do that. You two can come with me or not, but I'm going."

Neither of them answered right away, so she rolled her eyes and went to get her boots on. She'd gotten one tied when Cas said, "I'll be there." She glanced up but he was already gone, leaving Sam frowning at the empty bit of space he'd been occupying. He didn't look at Dean, and she shook her head as she dealt with the other boot.

Sam followed her into the bathroom when she went to brush her teeth again, though, and leaned against the doorjamb to watch her. She didn't turn her head to look at him, but she watched his reflection in the mirror.

"You know I'm coming, too, right?" he asked. Dean paused, then spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth. Sam sighed. "I'm coming with you wherever you go, Dean."

She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror and ran her palm over her stubbly cheek. Sam watched her for a while longer, then shook his head and left her alone. Dean sighed and let her shoulders slump. She pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes again, then straightened and followed him.

Sam was on the edge of the bed, changing from sneakers into boots, and Dean watched before crossing the room to stand in front of him. Dean slid her hand to the back of his neck and just stood there, looking down at him, until he sighed and glanced up. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, then walked away to gather up her keys before she had to see him react. She opened the door and stood watching the morning sun beat down on the parking lot until he was ready, too.

.

They spent most of the day at the library, Dean shifting uncomfortably in her seat as they trawled through old newspapers. It was afternoon by the time they found a reference to a woman killed by her husband, a butcher, almost two hundred years ago because he thought she'd taken up with the neighbor. He'd drugged her before slashing her and leaving her to bleed out in their bed. After that, it wasn't hard to find a trail of deaths that matched the pattern. They only occurred two or three times a century, which was probably why the cops hadn't made the connection, but they all happened on the same block, and Dean would have been willing to bet that each guy — and the victims were all men, and all married — wrongfully accused his wife of cheating before he died.

She hated cases like this, where the spirit was a victim in her own right, but that didn't keep the two of them from pretending to do grave rubbings of the town's oldest cemetery that evening in order to find her grave, or from returning after dark, with the Impala already packed. She glared at Sam after the first time she bent to dig her shovel into the grave, but he didn't notice, and after a while, she sighed and kept going. She'd done all sorts of stuff after being fucked good and hard before, crawled through mud and ran for her life and opened up centuries-old graves, and this wasn't bad. Her arms and shoulders eventually started protesting enough to distract her from the slight ache in her ass and, after pausing to stretch, she worked through that as well.

"You get it," she said to Sam, when they reached the coffin and let the moonlight touch the rotting wood for the first time in centuries. He scowled but lowered himself into the grave and broke open the coffin. The bones were bare by this point, covered in places by old fabric, and he sprinkled salt and lighter fluid before holding his hand up. Dean planted her feet and hauled, and they were both surprised when he came up easier than ever before. She grinned a little and flexed her arms at him before lighting a match and tossing it deep into the ground.

The spirit never showed up, and they sat shoulder to shoulder beside the grave as they waited for the flames to consume her body and then die out. Dean nudged him after she'd well and truly caught her breath, and waggled her eyebrows when he glanced over.

"Good thing you never got all the way around to saying I was cheating on you," she said, and nodded towards the smoke. "Wrong town for that shit, dude."

He snorted. "She couldn't've gotten into our room, even if it was in her part of town."

"She could probably manage to hang around her own grave." Dean lay back on the grass and stretched her arms out, relishing the pull in her muscles. The air was cold where her shirt road up over her lower belly, but that was nice, too, after the heat of working. Sam covered it up for her after a moment anyway, brushing her skin with his fingers as he tugged her shirt back into place. Eventually, he lay down next to her and they stared up at what they could see of the stars, through clouds and tree branches and smoke. She thought their arms were touching, but she couldn't tell, through all their clothes.

The sun was rising by the time they got the gravedirt packed back where it belonged. Leaving town this quickly, they wouldn't be able to tell if they'd gotten all of the corpse, and since she only struck every few decades, they couldn't know for sure either way. Maybe someone else would be working this job again, forty or fifty years down the line. It made Dean feel useless, exhausted, and she fought a yawn as she stocked up on energy drinks and coffee at the gas station on the outside of town.

"We could get some sleep before we head off," Sam said, once they were back on the road. The exit for the interstate was visible up ahead, a stoplight or two away, and Dean sighed as she kept going towards it.

"If you're tired, I can pull over and let you get in the back seat." She snapped open a Red Bull and took a big sip of it, then nestled the can between her thighs.

"I'll be good for a while," he said after a moment.

"No, sleep," she said. "That way you're rested for when I need a break."

He snorted and balled up his jacket after a second, to use as a pillow against the window. "Yeah, for a while," he said, but a few minutes later, he was snuffling quietly, falling asleep.

He slept for about six hours before Dean poked him awake, when she stopped for gas and made him slide into her seat. She stretched out in the back seat until Sam stopped and got them a room. There wasn't really time for them to stop, but she was tired and blurry-eyed getting out of the car, and Sam wasn't much better off. They both needed the sleep, after working the previous night, and if they were headed towards some unknown painful thing, then Dean wanted at least a little rest beforehand.

She tried calling Cas again after she ordered them a pizza. He hadn't answered any of the times she'd tried him on the road, and now, it went all the way to voicemail again.

Dean sighed and dropped her head to her chest as she hung up. Sam sank down across from her on the other bed, making its springs squeak, and his boots bracketed her own feet on the carpet between the beds.

"No luck?" he asked.

"Nope." She bit her bottom lip to distract herself from the sinking feeling in her stomach. If they couldn't get a hold of Cas, and Anna needed him for this to work, then it wouldn't much matter how much Anna wanted to help. She'd be stuck right where she was.

Sam didn't say anything for a moment, but then he pulled out his own phone and dialed. "I'll try, too," he said. Dean watched his jaw tense as his call went unanswered as well.

"We'll try tomorrow," Dean said, then went into the bathroom and scrubbed her face without waiting for the water to heat up. Sam came to lean on the doorframe and watch her. Part of her appreciated the concern, but mostly she wanted him to leave her alone. She took a while drying her face, and then picking lint out of her fucking stubble, and didn't look at him. By the time she folded the towel and hung it up, he'd clued in a little, and backed out to sit at the room's table.

She was antsy from having slept in the afternoon, and although she was still tired, she wasn't sleepy. She studied Sam as they ate. He wasn't yawning and since he kept trying to make conversation, she guessed he was in the same boat. After they put a few slices back into the box, for the morning, she rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards Sam.

"You wanna go out or something?" she asked. "I'm bored."

He raised his eyebrows. "We've got a big day ahead of us."

"And you sound like somebody's mom." She rolled her shoulders a few times. "Come on, just for a little bit. A few drinks." At Sam's continued frown, she walked it back. "A beer. One beer each. We'll be back in like an hour."

Sam kept frowning. "How about we go out, get some beer, and bring it back here." Dean rolled her eyes and he shook his head. "No, there's — I wanna maybe try something, before you get turned back."

He was blushing, Dean noticed. She studied him for a moment, watching the flush spread, and then leaned back. "What sort of something?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll show you," he said. "Something good, though. I think you'll like it."

"Is this a sex thing?"

He huffed and looked away, then right back to her face. "Yeah." She watched him a little longer, until he scowled and shook his head. "You know what, never mind. Let's go."

"Hey," she said, and shook her head. "Nuh uh, I didn't say that. You wanna stay, then let's stay."

He rolled his eyes and stood up. "You still want the beer?"

"We've still got some whiskey in the trunk," Dean said, after a moment. She was pretty sure she'd left enough for two, after the last time she filled up her flask.

"Uh, okay. I'll go get it."

Dean tossed him the keys, perfectly happy not to be trotting through the parking lot, and took off her boots while she waited.

The whiskey was cheap stuff and it burned going down, but it landed warm in Dean's belly, and she took another, smaller, sip before Sam screwed the lid back on the bottle. His cheeks were pink, maybe from the cold but maybe not, and he didn't hold her gaze for more than a few moments at a time. Dean didn't know what he had up his sleeve, what he thought they should do instead of going out, but she walked around the table anyway. She palmed the back of his neck and leaned up to kiss him, just the way she used to, and he grabbed her hips with shaking hands, and held her close up against him.

Sam exhaled against her mouth and Dean pulled back to nose at his cheek, to nip his earlobe. "Let's get in bed," she said, and he laughed once before nodding and walking, backwards, across the room.

.

She lay on her back, still dressed, and tugged Sam on top of her. He let his full weight rest on her without even trying to prop himself up, and he slid one arm underneath her, holding her to him. Dean opened her mouth for him and let him kiss her, hard and needy, until he rolled off of her and starting stripping, kneeling on the bed. Dean sat up and followed suit, but once they were both naked, Sam stayed on his own side of the bed, breathing through his mouth and staring at her, instead of moving back towards the middle of the mattress.

"Hey." She sank onto her heels and rested her hands on her thighs. The two of them looked pretty ridiculous, hard in matching poses on the bed, but she'd mock him for that later. "C'mon, what's up?"

He cut his gaze away and stared at the bedspread for a second before looking back at her. "I think you should fuck me," he said, and smiled a little. "You know, before you go back."

She blinked at him and then frowned. "What?"

"You know," he repeated, and then turned away to lie down on his back. He waggled his eyebrows as he spread his thighs, but he wouldn't look her in the eyes. She watched him until he started to fidget, then she lay down next to him and slid one hand over his abs and up onto his chest. His heart thundered along under her palm, and she frowned as she leaned in to kiss him.

"When'd you decide this?" she asked, and hitched a leg over his to slide her dick along his thigh.

Sam shivered before answering. "Been thinking about it for a few days," he said against her lips. Dean sighed and he went on. "Since we were at Bobby's."

"Sammy," she said, and reached down to cup his dick. She'd wondered about it a few times, yeah, but it hadn't been a huge deal. She was more concerned about trying to get back into her own body than with getting into Sam's.

He shivered again, almost shuddering, underneath her. Dean stroked his cock once and then wrapped her fingers around his balls. She pushed up onto her other elbow and watched Sam's face as she slid her middle finger further back, skimming over the skin between his sac and his hole. He frowned a little and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, but he didn't jerk away. Dean hummed a little as she rubbed, just a light, dry back and forth, and then leaned in to mouth along his jaw.

He did gasp when she brushed over his hole. Dean frowned and pushed herself up again to look at him. He stared up at her with his mouth open. Dean wriggled her finger, teasing, and when Sam out-right flinched, she sighed. She started to pull her hand away when he grabbed her wrist and held her in place, trapped against all his warm skin.

"Look, it's a cool idea," she said. "I get what you're trying to do and all, but seriously, you don't have to."

"No, I want to," he said, too quickly. He still didn't let go of her arm. Dean dropped her forehead to his shoulder.

"Since we were at Bobby's?" she asked. Sam nodded and leaned over to nuzzle the top of her head. "That's like a week, Sammy. That's not long at all."

"Doesn't mean I'm not sure about it." He pushed her hand, nudging her towards his ass again. Dean bit her bottom lip, then lifted her head and looked at him. He was still flushed and wide-eyed, but he met her gaze this time, and nodded. "Come on, you'd be pretty pissed if I tried to tell you you didn't want something in bed."

Dean rolled her eyes, because this was nowhere _near_ the same thing — she didn't buy for a second that Sam wanted to get fucked for any reason other than so she could experience it, like it was the holy grail of the human experience. She'd gone this long without it, and she'd rather keep doing without than hurt him.

"But do you?" She rolled onto her back, so that they weren't touching any longer, and crossed her arms as she glared up at the ceiling. They could have been drinking right now. "If it was someone else, would you want to?"

He huffed. "Dean, you're pretty much the only, uh, person with a dick I want to sleep with in the entire world. So no."

"But you never wanted that before."

"And? That means I can't be curious now?" He rolled onto his side, chasing her without either of them really moving, and grabbed her dick. She'd flagged a little with all the conversation, but she perked right back up with Sam's hand tugging at her.

"It's just." She closed her eyes and turned her face towards his, so that their foreheads bumped together. "It's not the most fun thing in the world, the first time."

He shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

"No," she said, and snorted. "You don't get it. I don't, I've never done this before, and seriously man, that's not how you want your first time."

"No, I do," he said, sharper, and if this turned into a full-blown argument Dean was just going to sleep in the other bed. "I want to at least try."

She shook her head. "Sammy, it's gonna suck," she said, biting the bullet to say it out loud. "It's gonna suck for you."

He sighed and then stilled his hand on her dick. "Does it suck for you?"

"What?" She shook her head. "No. Not usually, not anymore." She shrugged. "Did at first, I guess."

"It still does, some," he said, and shrugged when she pulled back to study him. "I do pay attention. I know it's not your favorite thing."

"It's not like I don't like it," she said. "I don't hate it or anything."

"But we do it anyway."

"Yeah."

He circled his thumb around the head of her dick a few times. "So lemme at least try to do the same thing for you."

Dean closed her eyes. "You are so freaking pushy."

Sam thrust his hips at her and Dean shoved him onto his back again. He let go of her cock as he went, but Dean scrambled off the bed to scrounge up their lube anyway, and it didn't much matter.

She had to nudge his thighs far enough apart for her to lie down between them, when she got back on the bed. Sam's hole looked tiny, absolutely untouched, and Dean bit her lip at the sight of him spread out for her, with his cock hard against his belly and his balls full below. He tried to smile, but she didn't miss how he'd fisted his hands at his sides, or how he was blushing all the way down to his nipples.

"I think you're gonna have to walk me through this part," he said.

Dean could have said the same thing for him, but she doubted it was what he needed to hear. Instead, she flattened her palms on his thighs, just resting there, and smiled at him. "Touch yourself," she said, and waited through his raised eyebrows until he slid one hand down and gripped his cock around the base. "And try to relax. It'll feel good if you let it."

He nodded and started stroking his dick, slow and steady, while she ran the pad of her thumb over her fingernails — nothing sharp or jagged — and then busied herself with the lube. She rubbed it in her palm to warm it and then swiped one finger slowly over Sam's hole, watching his face. He bit his lip and twisted his dick harder while Dean smeared the lube around, and then looked up at him.

"Keep breathing," she said, and waited for him to inhale again before starting to push. Sam held his breath for longer than he should have as her finger slipped inside him, and he clenched down tightly around her before letting the air out in a rush. Dean rubbed inside him as best she could, waiting for him to relax, and when he really didn't, she leaned down and kissed the head of his cock. He sighed, so Dean wrapped her lips around him and sucked, and he finally loosened up a little — not much, not enough, but some.

Dean wrapped her free hand around his, brushing her thumb over the head of his dick at the high-point of his current stroke, and pressed her finger as far as it would go inside him, until her hand was snugged up against his ass cheeks. "How is it?"

"Weird," he said immediately. "Really, really weird."

"Good weird or bad weird?" Dean pulled out, pressing up as she did, and he hissed between his teeth, then again as she thrust back in.

"Both?" He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "Bad. Good. I can't tell."

She shook her head and stretched out on her belly between his legs, rubbing her own dick against the bed. "I appreciate the thought, Sammy, really, but this isn't gonna work." She licked the head of his cock when he tried to protest, and he sighed instead. "If you still want to try it once I'm back, we'll pick up a strap-on or something, but not tonight."

"Dean," he said. She couldn't tell if he was saying her name just for the hell of it, or if he had more to say after that, but either way, he shut up after she took his dick into her mouth again. She sucked him as far down as she could go, propping herself up on her free hand, and once he started thrusting into her mouth, Dean rubbed her finger back and forth inside him, aiming for whatever it was she'd felt while he was fucking her. She wasn't sure if she hit it or not, but eventually Sam started moaning as well, and she pressed harder until he gasped and came, flooding her mouth. She pulled off sooner than he might have liked, judging by how he wrapped his own hand around himself again and kept squeezing, but Dean put her hand on his thigh and rubbed back and forth as she slid her finger carefully out of his ass. Sam sucked in a breath and she laughed a little, remembering her first time taking it like this.

"Multiply that by about a million," she said, wiping her hands on the sheet and coming up to lie next to him again. "And that's what it'd feel like to have actually gotten fucked just now."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Plus, if shit does go down tomorrow, you don't want to be running around with your ass sore." She rolled onto her side, throwing a leg over Sam's, and pulled him close as she thrust against him.

"But I wanted —" He pushed her onto her back and leaned up on his elbow next to her, taking her cock in hand. "It's pretty awesome, Dean. I wanted to show you."

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth while she rolled her hips, just occupying herself, but Sam tracked the movement, and she saw his eyes light up. A moment later, he went down between her own legs, angling her cock towards his face and studying it.

"Any reason I shouldn't do this?" he asked, and leaned forward to give the head of her dick a tiny, teasing lick, just like the way he used to lick her clit before he really got down to business. "Anything you're gonna talk me out of here?"

"Just don't make yourself puke," she said, and ran one hand into his hair. "I think you already know no teeth."

He laughed and moved back in, wrapping his lips around her and sucking once. Dean took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the sheets with her free hand to keep from trying to ride his face. She couldn't compare between this, the heat and clumsy suction as Sam hollowed out his cheeks and took another inch or two into his mouth, to anything she'd gotten up to as a woman.

"God," she said, and Sam made an answering noise before pulling off again. He stroked her a few times, swallowing visibly, and then sank back down on her dick, this time wrapping his free hand around her balls. He rolled them between his fingers, and between the pressure, and Sam's mouth on her, and the whole evening of touching Sam without trying to get herself off, Dean didn't last much longer before before she felt her orgasm building, rushing at her faster and faster.

"Sam," she said, letting go of the sheets to bat at his shoulder. "I'm gonna — Sam, I'm gonna —" She couldn't get any more words out, but Sam looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and nodded just a little with his mouth still clamped around her cock. Dean fumbled to get her hand on his face, pressing her thumb against the corner of his lips, and then she squeezed her eyes closed as she came, unsure she actually wanted to watch it.

Sam spluttered and pulled back so that his mouth was only on the very tip of her dick, but he let go of her hip and stroked the rest of her cock, and didn't pull off until she sighed and pushed him away. She took a few minutes to catch her breath, to let her hands stop shaking, and when she opened her eyes, Sam was still propped up by her hips, watching her. Dean tipped her chin backwards, nodding at him, and he smiled and came up to join her.

"There's that, too," he said.

Dean rolled her eyes. "Don't get smug. Your technique needs work."

"What are you talking about?" He poked her in the chest. "That was the best blowjob you've ever had, and you know it."

"Mmm." She turned off the light, pushed the lube onto the floor, and lay down, stretched out on her belly. She turned to face Sam and smirked. "Also the worst."

He snorted and hooked one arm around her waist.

.

They set off early in the morning. Dean drummed her fingers over the wheel when she drove, and against the door when Sam took his turns. She noticed him watching her a few times and always tried to stop — not much was as annoying as being trapped with someone else's nervous tics — but she wound up bouncing her leg instead, or taking her hair down to pick at her split ends, and eventually she just went with it. At least he wasn't complaining.

They didn't run into Castiel until late in the day, when he called Dean and told her to pull over and tell him where they were. She did both and then he was in the backseat, putting his phone away.

"We're about an hour out," Dean said. "I don't suppose you've got a way to get in touch with Anna before then?"

Cas shook his head. "Not exactly."

"Wonder where she's been, anyway," Dean said, and ignored Sam glancing her way. Cas sort of hummed in the backseat but didn't say anything else.

They reached the factory in the evening, just as the sun started to set. It was on the far outskirts of town, with no real parking lot, so Dean pulled into the beaten-down field in front of one door. She didn't see any other cars, but they piled out anyway, and she popped the trunk. Cas just straightened his shoulders and rearranged his coat, but Sam and Dean each pulled guns from the trunk and slipped them into their pants. She didn't know what they'd need them for — if Anna was here playing them, Cas's knife, and not the guns, would be their only real weapon — but she felt better with the pistol in the back of her pants.

A little light still came through the row of windows high on the factory's western wall, casting shadows from the equipment on the other side of the building, and Dean squinted as they walked inside. She didn't see or hear anyone, but she and Sam checked the surroundings anyway as they headed towards the center of the place.

They found Anna in the middle of the warehouse, at the end of a row of dusty conveyor belts. She was wearing the same outfit from Dean's dream and she smiled and took a few steps toward them.

"You came," she said, glancing between the three of them.

Dean nodded and took a step closer. She fought the urge to roll her eyes when Sam and Cas both came with her, one at each shoulder. "You asked us to," she said, and shrugged, then glanced around the place. "Do we have everything we need?"

"Just Castiel and me." Anna turned to look at him. "You know what to do?"

"I've already tried," he said. "I wasn't able to change her myself, and I don't know that both of us will have any better luck, if you've also been cut off from Heaven."

"I wouldn't go that far," she said. "No one seems to have noticed I'm missing."

Cas stared at her for long enough that Dean glanced over. "No one goes missing without Heaven's knowledge," he finally said, starting to frown. "Not when they've been under Heaven's control in the first place."

"And how exactly did I get under Heaven's control in the first place, then?" Anna asked, frowning back. "I wasn't going to make an issue of it now, since we have more important things to do, but don't act like you're innocent in this."

Dean frowned. "What're you two talking about?"

Anna laughed. "He didn't tell you?" Dean shook his head and Anna clicked her tongue. "I've been MIA because Castiel turned me over to Heaven. That's where I've been. They haven't been happy with me."

Dean glanced from her back to Castiel. "That true?"

"It was a mistake," he said. "I shouldn't have done it."

"But I got out on my own," Anna said. "I don't appreciate you implying that I didn't."

"Okay," Sam said. "The two of you obviously have stuff you need to deal with, but, now? Does it need to be now?"

Castiel and Anna glowered at each other, then he looked away and she shrugged. "It can wait," she said.

"So, how're we doing this?" Dean glanced around the place. Except for the old equipment, she couldn't see anything that looked useful.

"We'll lay hands on you and change you back," Anna said. She looked around as well and then grinned at Dean, almost a leer. "You should probably lie down, so you don't fall."

She wrinkled her nose, then got as comfortable as she figured she was going to. The other three came to kneel around her, Anna and Cas at her shoulders and Sam at her feet, resting his hands on her ankles. Castiel and Anna each put a hand on one shoulder, Cas fitting his hand over the scar he'd given her, and then Anna put a hand on her forehead, and Cas on her throat. He didn't press down but she swallowed anyway.

"You should close your eyes," Anna said. "And Sam, make sure not to touch her."

He kept his hands in place, though, and Dean glanced at Anna. "You said he needed to be here."

"For the three of us," she said. "This'll take a lot out of all of us. We'll need someone in good shape when we're done."

Dean looked to Sam as best she could, and sort of shrugged. He pulled a face but squeezed her ankles and then let go, putting his hands on his own thighs instead.

"See you on the other side, buddy," she said, and forced a smile before closing her eyes.

"On three," Anna said, but Dean didn't hear anyone count before everything went blank.

.

She didn't know how much later she woke up, but it didn't seem like enough time had passed. Lucifer had zapped her into a different body without more side effects than a little nausea, but her entire body hurt now. Everything seemed tender, and when she tried to pat herself down, her arms didn't cooperate very well.

Something crashed, far off in the building. Dean opened her eyes and turned her head slowly, trying to find the source of the noise.

"Sam?" she said. Her voice was weak but her _own_ again, and she smiled before clearing her throat and trying again. "Sam!"

"Dean!" he answered, sounding far away. "It's Anna, she—"

There was another crash, followed by a cut-off moan, and Dean frowned and forced herself up. Even pushing herself to a seated position made her head spin, but she sucked in deep breaths and it passed — slower than she'd like, but it passed.

She looked around and found Cas slumped over at her side, bleeding slowly from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He was breathing, at least, and Dean could see another splatter of blood down by her feet, where Sam had been. It trailed off towards where she'd heard Sam yelling. She didn't see any trace of Anna. Dean grabbed Cas's knife, lying on the floor beside his outstretched hand, and then pushed herself to her feet, and deeper into the building.

Sam and Anna — _Anna_ — had fallen silent, and for all that Dean wanted to call out and check on him again, she knew that would mean giving up whatever advantage she had in the situation. Drops of blood made a path on the floor, and Dean held onto the equipment as she went, trying to get a grip on the pain and her retooled sense of balance as well.

She reached the far wall without finding either Sam or Anna, and she couldn't see any more blood, either. That was hopefully a good thing, but she stood, trying to decide which way to go, for a long time until she heard something and headed in its direction. It had been a tiny noise, maybe just someone brushing up against some of the machinery, but Dean listened as she went, and she heard another noise, and then another. She kept going, pushing herself through row after row of dusty, broken equipment. The old machinery was rusted and broken in places, and Dean could hear the quiet rustle of bugs and rats as she went. Anna could be hiding, and Dean couldn't go as fast as she wanted, needing to make sure she wouldn't walk into a trap. Again.

When she found Anna, she'd managed to corner Sam in the very back of the factory. He had a broken piece of metal, maybe a support from the shelving, gripped in his hands like a baseball bat. One end was bloody. Dean could see blood on one side of Anna's head, dampening and darkening her hair, but she was advancing steadily on him anyway. She had a knife of her own in her hands, also reddened, and Dean couldn't see where Sam was hurt, but that didn't mean it wasn't bad. Anna had cornered him pretty efficiently, and who knew what else she'd done.

"I am sorry, Sam," she was saying as she walked towards him. Sam curled his lip at her. Dean started making her way down the aisle, advancing on Anna, and Sam didn't give her away at all. Dean was so proud of him she hardly even felt the fear for a moment. "But you have to see, it's the only way."

He shook his head. "No. I'm never going to say yes to him. Not ever."

"I'm just making sure of that," she said, and raised her arm, her knife hand. Dean lunged, and even though her body moved the way she expected it to again, she had one awful moment of thinking she wouldn't be able to make it in time before Sam swung out with his bar. Anna tried to block him with her free hand but he ducked down at the last minute, getting her in the gut instead of the neck. She oofed a little, the air knocked out of her, and then Dean was behind her, perfectly in range.

She grabbed a handful of Anna's hair, the same hair she'd tugged at while Anna had her face between Dean's legs, and yanked backwards, baring her throat and slicing deeply into her with Cas's knife. Blood gushed immediately, hot and messy, but Dean knocked Anna's knife out of her hand before letting her fall to the ground. She dropped on her side and Dean nudged her onto her back. Anna's torso was already pumped full of bullet holes, and Dean guessed Sam had spent all his ammo on her without any luck. Cas's knife should have done the trick, but Dean wasn't buying it until she bled out.

Sam was leaning back with his bar — pipe, she saw now — loosely grasped in one hand. He'd dropped his jacket somewhere and the button-down shirt he'd worn underneath was tied around his waist, serving as a makeshift bandage. Blood seeped slowly through it but Dean couldn't see any other place he was hurt.

"Was it just her?" she asked, reaching Sam and patting him down. He winced but nodded.

"She came at me as soon as you were changed back. You and Castiel were both out of it and she got me before I even realized." He gestured to his side. "Was talking about how I had to die to keep Lucifer from using me."

"Goddamn fucking angels," Dean said, as she moved Sam's shirt aside. The cut wasn't deep, but it probably hurt like a bitch and bled every time he moved. "You'd think they'd at least fight fair."

"Dicks with wings, I think you said?"

Dean laughed and draped Sam's arm, on his uninjured side, around her shoulders. "C'mon, I left Cas where he fell, and we need to get you patched up."

He went with her for a few steps, maneuvering around Anna's body and the puddle of blood beneath it, before frowning and pulling away a little. "Hey, it did work, right?"

Dean frowned and patted herself down again, trying to keep both from dumping Sam onto the floor and slicing herself up on the blade. She grinned when she found tits under her shirt, hanging loosely without a bra, but she outright laughed when she pressed her wrist into her crotch and found her dick gone. "Fuck," she said, and dropped her forehead to Sam's shoulder for a moment before getting them going again.

.

Cas was still conked out when they got back to him. After arguing about who was actually steadier on their feet right now, Dean and Sam managed to get him into the backseat. The blood on Cas's face all seemed to come from punches instead of something internal, and he was breathing steadily even if he didn't stir. Dean remembered how wiped out he'd been when he tried to fix her earlier and guessed Anna let him do most of the work this time around in order to get him out of the way.

She cleaned Sam's cut there in the field, while he shivered. It wasn't the best place, but she needed to know how bad it was. He wasn't cut too deeply, though; Anna may have taken him by surprise, but Sam dodged her pretty well. Dean didn't think it would even need stitches.

"It didn't get bad until I started swinging that bar at her," Sam said, while Dean pressed butterfly bandages in a careful row over the cut. "But then it wouldn't stop until I tied it up."

"She didn't get you anywhere else?" she asked.

Sam showed her a gash above his wrist that had already scabbed over. "Just here."

Dean nodded and started packing the first aid kit away. Sam leaned against the hood while she worked but then took the canvas bag before she zipped it up.

"You okay?" he asked.

Dean thought for a moment and shrugged. "I need a sandwich and then a three-day nap, but other than that, sure."

Sam dropped the bag onto the metal under him and wrapped his hands around Dean's waist, under her coat. Dean looked down and her heart jumped at seeing her body curve in the right ways again, at finding her waist whittled back to its usual size under his hands.

"Dean," he said. When she glanced at his face, level with her own as he sat and she stood, he smiled. The dried blood on his cheek crinkled and she reached up to rub at the mess with one thumb. "I'm glad it worked."

Dean laughed. "You have no fucking idea." She kissed him, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, before pulling away and heading towards the trunk, kit in hand.

She drove them a few minutes into town and stopped at the first motel flashing a vacancy sign. Even with the last few sips of a flat bottle of Coke from the back seat, Dean had to force herself to stay awake long enough to check them in. She got two rooms, right next to each other, and gave one to Cas. Once they got him settled on top of one bed, though, with his shoes and coat folded on the spare bed and his knife on the bedside table, she was past exhaustion. She stripped out of her clothes as soon as she and Sam were in their own room, and crawled straight into bed, all her plans of marathon sex slipping away. She heard Sam moving around in the bathroom, talking to someone on his phone, and she tried to stay awake long enough to get him under the covers with her, but it didn't work. She was fast asleep before he came back into the room.

.

The room was bright when Dean woke up, even through the blinds. She stretched, enjoying the feel of the sheets on her bare skin as much as the ache, now almost pleasant, in her muscles and joints, and then ran her hands over herself.

It was all there, everything back in place — tits soft and round on her chest again, smooth belly with all its temporary pudge gone, and pussy right between her legs, warm and moist and tucked safely inside her body again. Dean sighed and traced a finger between her lips, dipping just slightly into her cunt, and then ran her other hand over her thigh. Her leg hairier than a few days ago, stubble grown out into soft fuzz, and she decided to shave when she got up.

She sighed in anticipation of being able to rub her legs together again, silky and smooth, and Sam snorted, across the room. Dean opened her eyes again and found him on the other bed, in sweatpants and nothing else, with his computer in his lap.

"What?"

He shook his head. "You would touch yourself after being awake for thirty seconds."

"You would know exactly how long I've been awake, stalker." Dean needed a lot of things right now — a meal, a shower, a toothbrush — but she could feel herself getting wet just from looking at Sam, and she kicked at the sheets until they weren't so tight around her shoulders. "Are you gonna help out, or should I take care of this myself?"

Sam shoved his computer onto the bed beside him and came directly to her. She laughed and shoved at the covers further, letting him in with her. She moved onto her side to meet him but Sam rolled right on top of her, tangling the sheets around their shins and bearing her down into the bed. Dean moaned and spread her legs for him, letting him sink as far into her as he could without getting his dick out, and Sam pressed his face into her shoulder. He might have been shaking a little, but she wasn't going to call him out on it. She wasn't at her steadiest, either.

"God, I missed you like this," he said, shoving one hand underneath her to grab at her ass while palming a boob with the other. Dean hitched a leg around his waist and kept him tight against her.

"Don't have to tell me about it," she said, and rubbed her cheek — smooth, thank god — on his. He turned his face towards hers and kissed her sloppily, pushing his tongue between her lips with no preamble, and normally Dean would have rolled her eyes but now she just opened up wider to suck at his tongue.

He kept trying to pull away, planting his hands above her shoulders and pushing up, but Dean went with him every time and dragged him back down to her mouth. It wasn't like she hadn't had him at all, over the past few weeks, but their bodies fit together the way she wanted them to again. He probably had good plans, for wherever it was he was trying to go, but she didn't want to let go of him in order to find out.

"Dean," he finally said, laughing into her mouth. "C'mon, let me up."

"Nuh uh," she said, keeping one arm wound firmly around his neck, but he pinched at her ass and finally she laughed back and let him go. "This had better be worth it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think it's gonna be," he said, and pulled away just enough to lie down beside her, pressed up against her. Dean tried to roll with him but he pressed her hip down before trailing his hand between her thighs. Dean groaned and spread them further, giving Sam all the room he wanted to stuff his fingers right up inside her, and then she reached down to get her own fingers on her clit. It was almost too much, and she only rubbed her clit between her thumb and her forefinger a few times before she came, tensing and clamping down in the exact same way she had for most of her life. Sam slowed his thrusts inside of her, moving more gently, but he didn't stop, and Dean shook her head and grabbed at his wrist.

"Not like that," she said. "Not the next time."

He paused before putting his hand on her inner thigh and pressing his face into her shoulder. "What, then?"

"I want you inside me," she said, keeping her legs spread wide for him, and laughed as he shifted immediately on top of her.

"This might be over embarrassingly quickly," he said, sitting up a little and rubbing one thumb over her cunt before doing the same thing with the head of his cock. Dean batted his side when he just teased for a moment, nudging against her lips without pushing inside, despite all his talk about not lasting, but finally he gripped her hip with his free hand and thrust, slipping inside her and opening her up around him. Dean closed her eyes, biting her lip to keep from babbling, and felt him slowing down, almost stopping, in response. She shook her head and grabbed his hips in return, pulling him deeper inside her.

"No," she said, "it's good, don't stop."

He circled his hips when he was as far inside as he could go. It was almost painful, but Dean wrapped her legs around his waist and held on, keeping him snug in her body.

"Fuck," he said, and lowered himself so quickly that she would have guessed his elbows had given out. It settled him more firmly against her, deeper back into her cunt, and Dean hissed through her teeth as she tightened her legs around him. "Dean, fuck," he said, and started thrusting slowly even though she hadn't let go.

She groaned and hitched her knees up higher, changing the angle so that it felt like he slipped even deeper inside her. It wasn't good in the sense that this was going to get her off any time soon, especially since they were holding each other so tightly neither of them could get a hand between them to help her. That would have to come later. For now, though, it was good beyond the telling of it to just have her cunt back, to urge Sam along with her ankles so they could fuck the way she was used to.

He did come quickly, with his face buried in her neck and his hands gripping her hips tightly as he slammed into her a few more times. Dean bit her bottom lip, because that was doing nothing for her, but he gentled as he slowed. By the time he lay slumped on top of her, sweaty and trembling, his hands were soft on her hips and he was mouthing over her shoulder and up her neck. Dean tilted her head to give him more room and loosened her legs from around him. She stretched and then hooked her heels over his thighs, not pulling him along any more but just keeping them looped together. She felt every twitch of his cock inside her, and every so often she clenched down just to hear him gasp. She still needed to get off, was still wet and swollen and ready for it, but she could wait a second.

"Mmm," he said eventually, and thrust again, sliding his soft cock out and then back into her cunt. Dean arched up into it and Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows to smile at her.

"I seem to remember you giving me shit about coming too fast just a few days ago," she said.

He rolled his eyes and gave another soft, shallow thrust. "Funny, because I remember talking about how you don't usually give me shit about that."

She shrugged and let go of him with one hand to rub her fingers over her own nipple. "Whatever, man, doesn't change the fact that you just wham-bammed me."

"You should wait for the thank-you-ma'am before you start complaining." He pulled out carefully, making her sigh and squirm, before he kissed her on the forehead and crawled backwards down her body. He didn't kiss as he went, like he usually did, but just slithered down until he was eye-level with her navel. Dean threaded her fingers through his hair and tried to push him further. He glanced up and smirked at her.

"Getting there," he said, and moved down that last little bit to situate himself between her thighs. He spread her cunt apart with one hand and just looked for a moment before grabbing her hips and tilting her pelvis up to his face. He didn't fuck around with teasing first but smoothed his tongue between her lips immediately, taking one long, slow lick before breaking away and moaning. Dean made a matching noise, and then did it again as Sam went back in, pushing his tongue inside her, soft and hot. She ground her pussy into his face. He licked inside her a few more times, sliding his tongue as far into her body as he could manage, and then moved up, taking her clit between his lips.

That _was_ too much, way more direct stimulation than she could handle right away, and Dean scrabbled her feet against his back as he started sucking. She tightened her grip on his hair, trying to haul him off, but that turned into holding him in place when he slid fingers inside her cunt and spread them slightly, expanding and putting pressure on her everywhere inside. She started shaking before she even came, thrusting against Sam's mouth and fingers, and he rode it out, moving with the bucks of her hips without letting her throw him off.

He kept sucking gently as she came down. When she let her hips fall flat against the bed again, Sam pulled back. He wiped his mouth on the flat sheet, then grinned at her. Dean tugged at his hair and he came back up her body, slipping his fingers out of her pussy as he went. He settled next to her, one leg hooked over hers, and sucked his fingers clean while holding her gaze. Dean bit her bottom lip, remembering how he'd stared at her with her dick between his lips, and then leaned to kiss him when he pulled his hand away. He wrapped his damp fingers around her hip and she turned onto her side, slotting their legs together. His cock twitched against her belly and she arched into it, rubbing herself against him as she sucked on his tongue.

He tasted like the two of them together, his come mixed in with her slickness, and she pulled back after a moment.

"That wasn't smart," she said. "I'm not back on anything yet."

Sam frowned at her for a moment, then his eyes widened and he leaned back a little. "Uh, does that mean —" He broke off and frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Means we find a pharmacy tomorrow and get some Plan B," she said, and pulled a face. She'd done that once before, after another poorly planned romp, and apparently she was one of the women to get all the crappy side effects, in full force.

"That's it?"

She shrugged. "Should be." Dean reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his dick, which was still sticky from being inside her. "But let's get our money's worth, in the time being."

Sam stroked his hand from her hip, down her thigh, to hook behind her knee. Dean smiled and pushed him onto his back before climbing on top of him, and they kept going.

.

It was dark outside when they finally climbed out of bed. Dean felt shaky, and she ate the last of Sam's leftover pizza while he got on the phone and ordered more food. It was a long shower by herself next, and Dean spent way more time than usual primping, now that she had herself back — using shaving cream on her legs, and letting the conditioner soak into her hair for as long as the bottle said she should, and finding the trial tube of some organic facial scrub she'd picked up months ago and rubbing her hairless face even smoother. She plucked her eyebrows again when she got out of the tub, because she'd let them get bushy to look more like a guy's, and then rubbed lotion all over herself, and only then got dressed.

Wearing a bra again was a little weird after having gone so long without, and even with her boobs supported and held in place, her chest was a distraction now, bouncing subtly with every move she made. Her men's clothes had never stopped feeling too loose, but her own jeans and a tank top felt tight now, clinging to her. It wasn't quite the triumphant return to her own wardrobe she'd imagined, but Dean glanced herself over in the mirror and decided this was still better.

She went next door to check on Cas, before she and Sam sat down to eat, but found his room empty. When she came back, Sam frowned at her over cartons of enchiladas and rice.

"Weird. He was there when I looked earlier today."

"Really?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, and when she checked her phone, she found a missed call and a voicemail from Cas.

"He's back on the whole God trail, apparently," Dean said, after she listened to it, and tugged some of the food over to her side of the table. "Remind me to call him in a few days, see if anything turned up." Sam nodded, and she dug into her food, eating without stopping. After Sam put away his own meal, he leaned back in his chair and watched her eat all the chips and salsa, and then the extra orders of rice and refried beans he produced from another bag, hidden under the table. She was happily full when she finished, and more than ready to move onto the Modelo Sam had picked up as well.

The bed was wrecked, so she and Sam wound up watching TV on the other. She threw her legs over his lap, sitting sideways, and he ran his hands idly over her as if he wasn't even aware of doing it. After they finished the movie, Dean took the remote from the pillow beside Sam and turned off the TV. He smiled as she slid into his lap, facing him, but Dean put her hands over his and shook her head when he touched her hips.

"What's to keep it from happening again?" she asked. Sam frowned, and she shrugged and looked away. "The rib sigils are great in theory, but we've seen angels work around them, and hell, we know the demons have people looking for us, too. There's nothing to say he won't just zap me back when he finds out."

Sam nodded and stayed quiet for a while before pulling one of his hands out from under hers. He nudged the strap of her top aside and traced his thumb over her tattoo, then pressed his palm over the entire thing. "Maybe there's protection against transformation or something we can get. We can ask Bobby. Castiel, too."

"You think?"

"These've worked." He tapped his thumb over the ink. "It's worth a shot."

"Did you ever call Bobby, by the way?" she asked, meeting his eyes again.

Sam tugged her further into his lap, nudging his dick up against her ass. "Do you really want to talk about Bobby right now?"

"Hey, you're the one who took it there while I was talking about other stuff," she said.

Sam rolled his eyes and slid his hand into her shirt, cupping her boob and flicking his thumb back and forth over her nipple. Dean moved her own hand to her other breast and did the same thing through her clothes, then rubbed Sam's dick with her free hand. He sighed and tipped his head to rest their foreheads together, and Dean met his gaze, fuzzily and way too close, as he tilted her further and kissed her.

.

Most of her own clothes were still dirty and wrinkled, so Dean made them go by a laundromat before they checked out the next day. She wore one of Sam's t-shirts, belted so it could pass for a dress, and her stompiest pair of boots, and more eyeliner than was really necessary for eleven in the morning. Sam rolled his eyes at her, but she also caught him checking out her legs, and it evened out.

It took a few loads to get everything clean. Dean kept a few of the flannel men's shirts, thinking maybe she'd take them in at the sides so they'd still fit her, but she put the rest of it into a garbage bag, tied it up, and tossed it deep into the trunk. There was no point in throwing out clean clothes that fit her, but she didn't plan on wearing them on a regular basis, either.

Sam grinned at her from the end of the folding table while she rolled up the last of her real clothes and tucked them into her duffel. "For as long as that stuff had been in there, I'm pretty sure you should have wiped out the bag or something."

She snorted. "We've got Febreeze in the car."

"That just puts new car smell over the stink that's already there."

"Beats the stink, though." She leaned onto her bag as she zipped it up, and then double-checked the machines they'd used. None of them had clothes left inside, so she picked up her duffel with both hands and tossed it at Sam's chest as she walked towards the door.

"Hey," he said, but he hooked its strap over his shoulder and picked up his own as well.

"C'mon," she said, and nodded towards the door. "I wanna get out of here. This town creeps me the hell out."

Sam rolled his eyes before walking behind the car and smacking the trunk. She popped it for him once she got inside, and listened to the double thunks of their bags, and then the slam of the trunk, before he slid into the passenger seat. Sam leaned over and turned up the radio after Dean started up the engine, and she took them back on down the road.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, there is a series of timestamps to this fic: [GENS 101](http://archiveofourown.org/series/5361).


End file.
